The Tablet
by bbucking
Summary: "You will be responsible for the deaths of five people...Pick up your tablet to see your list." How do you stop the inevitable from happening? A Faberry fic.
1. Prologue

**A/N - **Credit to my good friend Katelyn who had the dream that inspired this story. This doesn't really get into the plot, but oh well...more to come.

**Disclaimer** - I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

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><p>Prologue<p>

You are walking. Something you had taken for granted for eighteen years of your life. But you know you would never view the simple, yet often unappreciated, skill the same way. You used to run when you wanted to clear your head, forget what was going on in your life, escape from everything. Now you walked.

You almost liked walking better. You hated it at first; running away from your problems was what you did best, when you could run, but walking was much preferred over the alternative. You had been out of the chair for almost a month and though rehab had been a bitch, you still thank God every night that you can even use your legs. You know first-hand of others who are not that lucky.

Tonight, like most nights, you have no destination in mind. It's a mild summer evening; the sunset paints a picturesque mixture of oranges, reds, yellows, pinks, and purples blending together effortlessly as it threatens to dip below the horizon. A picture is worth a thousand words and you wish you had a camera better than the one on your cell phone to capture the image. Though no copy or replication can ever compare to the view of seeing the sunset with your own eyes. It's the actual action of the sun setting that makes the scene so incredible. Any photograph is just a still frame without the capabilities to fully capture the entire essence of the sunset, thus rending it useless.

You briefly wonder if your life is like watching the sunset or merely seeing a picture of it. You seem to lean towards the latter. Watching the sunset, like any good moment in time, is best when you have someone to share it with. You haven't had anyone to share your moments with in a while.

Your mind always wanders when you go for your walk at night. Your feet, like your mind, meanderer aimlessly through the streets of Lima. Once it gets too dark to see, you must rely on the fireflies (or streetlamps if you don't stray off the beaten track, which doesn't happen often) to guide you back home. It's not that time yet, you're guessing you have at least another 30 minutes. When you take your eyes off the ground, you see that you have walked all the way to an abandoned warehouse, a good five miles from your house.

Your gut instinct says you should turn around and go home. Now that you know where you are, you know it will take at least an hour if not more to get back. Not that you have a problem with walking after dark, but there's always something about the abandoned warehouses and foreclosed houses on this side of town that has given you the creeps. Although everything in your brain is screaming for you to head home, your feet don't listen and make their way across the weed-filled parking lot towards what looks like the front door.

When you reach the door, you hope that it's locked because clearly the nerve signals from your brain to your feet are just not working. You see there is a broken chain hanging loosely around the handles that has clearly been cut. Your hand reaches out and pulls the door open, blinding you with fluorescent light.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and for now your body and brain are on the same page. You step inside the building, squinting as the brightness in this open room is complete contrast to the darkening sky outside. You've never been inside the warehouse before, though Puck dared you and Santana to go in once freshmen year. When you told him you'd only go in if he went with the two of you, he mysterious thought the idea was lame and let you off the hook. You all agreed never to mention the incident again as it would bring down Puck and Santana's bad-ass persona and you had a reputation to maintain as a fearless bitch.

You smile to yourself thinking about how much things have changed since then, how much you have changed. You move across the large room, white walls, white ceiling, white floor…if it weren't for the occasion crack in the painted concrete you are walking on, you would have no clue if you were even moving. The room seems endless, the walls seem to go on forever, and there doesn't seem to be anywhere to go besides out the same way you came in. You see a flicker of darkness straight ahead of you; apparently your body already knew the right direction to head towards.

You briefly wonder who is paying the electricity bill on this building. Surely with no one working here it is a waste of money and as far as you know the plant has been out of business for over ten years. It's that thought along with the pristine whiteness and simplicity of the room (is it even really a room, maybe chamber would be a better term) that halts you just outside the first door you've come upon.

You can see now that there is a window embedded in the door and through the glass you see the flickering of a single light bulb. The room on the other side of the door is much smaller, you can see where it ends directly across from you, but the window is too small to give you much of a view to how far the room stretches to the left and right.

This whole scenario seems sketchy and you absentmindedly wonder what Santana will think when you tell her you actually went into the warehouse. But instead of her voice, you hear another brunette's and the thought alone yanks on your heartstring. _Don't be stupid Quinn, turn around and go home._ You know she is right, but for some reason, probably out of spite, you don't want to listen to her. After all, she never listens to you and look where that go you. Not that you blame her, you never could, and things had been getting better after she called off the wedding. But she is still engaged, she is still setting her standards too low, dreaming too small. And with that in mind, you put your metaphorical middle finger up at the Rachel Berry in your head and open the door.

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><p>To be continued...<p> 


	2. Objective 1

**A/N** - My stats haven't been working for the past few days so I have no clue how well this story was responded to (if any more than three people read it at all). Nevertheless, I will assume people have and hopefully will continue now that we are getting into the gist of things. Next update probably won't be until next weekend when I have time to write. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer** - I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

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><p>Objective 1<p>

The first thing you see when you push in the door is a desk situated in the middle of the left side of the room. Sitting at the desk is a person, you not sure of gender but based on the sheer size you would guess male, in a white tuxedo...white coat, white shirt, white bowtie and though you can't see what's hidden behind the desk you assume white pants and shoes as well. White seems to be quite the themed color around here. You can't see his face; it is covered by what looks like a motorcycle helmet (white of course) which completely clashes with the tuxedo outfit. The only non-white colored article in this man's attire is the helmet's visor which is jet black. Of course, wouldn't want to be able to see his eyes. The man doesn't even take notice to your appearance in the room; he sits completely still, his body faced towards the other side of the room.

The man's (you think it's a person anyway) silence and immobility (is he even breathing?) unnerves you, so you turn to the right to see what he is staring at. You let out a gasp at the sight of over a dozen people standing with their backs to you, facing the wall. They are all relatively still, staring down at something that is in front of them but out of your view. Some of them stand side by side, but you notice some gaps in between the people and see that there are podiums lined up against the wall, each with a small white rectangular object on them. None of the people have acknowledged your presence and if weren't for the slight movement up and down of their shoulders to show that they are breathing, you would have thought these people were not real. As is, this is getting to be too weird for you to handle and all thoughts of curiosity or spiting Rachel have been thrown out the window and replaced by survival and self-preservation.

You quickly turn on your heels and walk the few paces back to the door. You grab the handle and pull only to find that the door doesn't move. You try again and throw all of your weight into it, but still the door doesn't budge. You think about trying to kick the door but immediately disregard that idea as your legs are still weak and the door swings in not out. You look around for help to see if anyone has been watching your struggles. No one has moved. It's as if they don't even know you are they, to them you don't seem to exist. You are just about to go over to the man in the tux and give him a piece of your mind, demanding he let you out of this room when something catches your eye.

On the right side of the room, about midway down, you see red letters appear on the wall. It's the first sign of any color you've seen since entering the warehouse. It begins spelling out two words and when finished, this time you are too shocked to even gasp. Your feet move you over to the podium while your eyes stare, unblinking, at the words written in red above it: _Quinn Fabray._

You can't take your eyes off of your name. What is going on? Who are these people? How do they know your name? Your mind is buzzing with unanswered questions and you finally close your eyes to try to focus. This has gone beyond the level of creepy and is pretty much at downright ridiculous. You come up with the only logical answer: you are dreaming. You've been having weird and sometimes altogether frightening dreams ever since the accident, but they would usually involve you driving or something of that nature. Never had you had a dream so imaginatively intricate. But hell, you might as well just go with it until you wake up.

You open your eyes to see that you are still in the white room though your name has disappeared from the wall. You are standing in line next to these other mysterious people who are all staring intently at their individual white objects. You decide that must be your next move so you reach down and grab it. The object is a tablet of some sorts, it looks similar to the iPad Mercedes has but there are no buttons. You touch the screen, unsure how to turn the device on, but nothing happens. You flip the tablet over searching the back and the thin sides, but there is nothing except smooth plastic.

Out of options, you set the tablet back down on the table and notice that a pair of head phones has appeared on the wall in front of you. There is no cord attached to them so you assume they are wireless as you place them on you head and snuggly over your ears. Almost immediately you hear a voice through the headphones.

"_Welcome Quinn Fabray. We have been waiting for you."_

Okay again, seriously creepy. Maybe you should stop eating chocolate as a snack before you go on your evening walks if it is causing you to have dreams like this. You try to remember where you must have fallen asleep on your walk, but all the details seem fuzzy and the voice has continued talking.

"_You will be responsible for the deaths of five people. You will complete each objective in numerical order. After you complete each objective, you are to return to headquarters to receive your next objective. By August, you will complete all five of your objectives."_

You laugh at this, though you cannot hear the sound of your laughter. Seems you have quite the overactive imagination.

"_Pick up your tablet to see your list."_

For some reason, though you know it is just a dream, you have a small hope that Finn will be on the list. It seems like an evil thought, but geez, if you could just get him out of the way then Rachel would finally be free of anything that could possibly hold her back and tie her to this damn town. You pick up the tablet and notice that it has turned on by itself. At the top of the screen it has your name followed by a list of five names that you will supposedly be responsible for their deaths. You don't even recognize the first three names so you're not sure how it will even be possible for you to influence their lives (or in this case deaths). When you get to the last name on the list, you feel an uneasy knot start in your stomach. You remind yourself this is not real, not feasibly impossible, it's just a dream. The voice comes back and the first name on the list flashes on the screen.

"_Objective one, Douglas Pendel."_

The screen on the tablet goes blank and so too does the rest of the room.

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><p>You wake up sweating, tangled in your sheets, with your heavier blankets and even one pillow on the floor. You can't remember all the details of your dream, but it must have been pretty epic to have you thrashing around in your sleep and do quite a number to your bed. What little you do remember had something to do with a list of people. You can't think of their names. And you were supposed to…what kill them? No…um, how was it put…right, be responsible for their deaths. How morbid. You scoff at your intense imagination as you roll out of bed to take a shower.<p>

Once you're clean and fresh, you decide to text Rachel as you think she would get a kick out of your dream. You're not best friends by any means, but things between you two changed after the accident. You know for a while she blamed herself for what happened. No amount of reassurance on your part could force her to believe otherwise. If anyone should be sorry it should be you. You were responsible (note to self, never text and drive again) and you landing in the hospital that day essentially stopped Rachel's wedding. Yet somehow, you couldn't find it in yourself to be sorry that you unintentionally interfered in Rachel's big day. In fact, at times, you were almost thankful for it. That is until she told you that she still planned to marry Finn, though in light of recent events it seemed they had been moving rather quickly (you think?) and would therefore put their impending nuptials on hold.

You found it odd that Rachel was one of the few people, besides your Mom, Santana and Brittany, who had visited you every day while you were in the hospital. You figured it was out of guilt or maybe pity, so after a week or so of confusion at her presence, you finally told her she didn't have to keep coming, it was completely unnecessary. She looked slightly hurt at first before softly telling you that she wanted to be there and that's what friends do, they support each other. You tried not to let your happiness show and instead simply nodded at her comment. Relief swept through your veins knowing that Rachel wasn't there because she felt guilty, or sad, or afraid, or any of the other awful emotions you had ever instilled in the girl, but instead she was at your beside every day at exactly 4:30 purely because she wanted to be there.

You send Rachel a quick text saying you had a crazy dream you need to tell her about and asking if she wants to hang out today. You saw her only a couple days ago when you went shopping for college supplies, you for your Yale dorm room, and she for her apartment she will be sharing with Kurt. Still you feel this inherit need to be around her a lot, or at least more than what should be necessary or acceptable for just friends. She never seems to mind though, you doubt besides Finn and Kurt (possibly Blaine) she hangs out with many other people her age. Or maybe it's the fact that she wanted your friendship for so long, that now that she has it, she will take every opportunity to reveal in it. Either way, you certainly aren't complaining.

You walk downstairs to an empty kitchen. There's a note on the island counter which means your mom must have left for work so it's an empty house. No surprise there. Even in the summer heat, you feel cold in this house that will never be a home. And your mom wonders why you are never here.

_Quinn,_

_I had to go in early today, but will be back this afternoon. Remember its Friday Family Night so be home for dinner! Also if you want to go over to a friend's house, just ask me instead of telling me you are going for a walk and then texting me at midnight to tell me you are with your friends. See you tonight!_

_Love,  
><em>_Mom_

You groan at the acknowledgement of "Friday Family Night." It's something your mom instated after you moved back in at the end of sophomore year. You had got your act together (at least in her eyes) during your junior year, so the dinners had eventually ceased. But with your crazy ass punk look at the beginning of senior year, the dinners were promptly reinstated in an attempt to reconnect with her daughter. Mostly it consisted of awkward small talk and silence as the two of you sat across from each other at the too big dining room table eating off of too fancy dishes with too expensive cutlery.

The only real part you liked about family night was that occasionally your mom would ask you to help her in the kitchen to prepare the meal. It may seem extremely 1950s and old fashioned especially for your feminist views on life, but you always were in your element in the kitchen. Your mom and you could work together seamlessly preparing a meal without even needing to talk. Maybe it was that part that you liked the most, not having the pressure to say the right thing or act the right way. And for that reason alone, you made a note to be back in time to help your mom cook tonight.

It's fairly early, not yet nine in the morning, but you are already bored and lonely in this house. You haven't gotten a reply from Rachel, which is rather odd as she is no doubt already up at this time of day, but perhaps she is in the shower after her strenuous morning workout. You search through your contacts and find the one other person you don't mind hanging out with.

**To Santana: What are you up to today?**

You barely make it back up to your room when your phone buzzes.

**From Santana: me n Britts be goin to Clmbs. want us to get u anything?**

Awesome, so you're stuck in Lima without your two best friends and your other friend (reliant? necessity for survival?) is currently not texting you back. You're only slightly pissed, but decide to throw a sarcastic comment back anyway.

**To Santana: Thanks for the invite. **

The response is almost immediate.

**From Santana: u wud be a cock block, wants to get my macs on in the city with my gurl**

**To Santana: Fine whatever. Have fun.**

Luckily you and Santana have been friends long enough to be able to tell each other's tones even in text messages when voices can't be heard. She's probably laughing at you right now thinking about your fake pout as you sulk in your room, which is pretty accurate of what you are doing.

**From Santana: i plan on it, chill at my pool 2mrw?**

**To Santana: Sounds good, see you then.**

**From Santana: later hater**

Her typical end of any conversation. Not wanting to stay in your house any longer than necessary, you grab the keys to your new (yet old and crappy) car. It's nothing like the Beatle, but that was completely unsalvageable after the accident. You're surprised they let you get your license back so soon after being able to walk and though technically you're not supposed to drive without a legal adult as a passenger, that hasn't really stopped you before. Once the nightmares of the crash began to subside, it was easier to actually get in a vehicle just as a passenger. The first time you sat in the driver's seat again you were expecting a wave of fear and anxiety, but nothing came. You supposed it was because you knew you weren't a bad driver and though the accident was your fault, you knew what you had done wrong. From then on, you threw your phone in the glove box to make sure you would never make the same mistake again.

You're not sure where you are going as you pull out of the driveway. You are feeling rather lonely and could really use some interaction with people. Not necessarily talking to them or anything, but just being around others. People watching is always fun. You head towards the first place that comes to mind when you think of people watching…the mall. It's about a twenty minute drive to the nearest mall, and you stop at a Starbucks on the way because you didn't eat anything before you left your house. You order a muffin and a tall coffee and proceed to eat your breakfast before continuing your drive. Eating and driving you've decided is also something you steer clear of.

When you get to the mall it's not yet ten and the place is fairly empty. You make your way to the food court which is always the best place for spying on other people. Unfortunately at the moment your pickings are slim. Apparently the weather is too nice for anyone to want to be stuck indoors, leaving you with few people to make fun of. The coffee has made its way straight through you and you walk to the nearest bathroom to fix that problem.

You push the door open and hear a noise not typically produced in a bathroom. You halt at the entryway to the main room; sinks on your left, stalls on your right. You hear the noise again, it sounds like a low pitched moan. You feel heat rush to your face and you are almost positive about what is going on in one of the stalls. There's a bang that sounds like a body smacking into the wall of a stall. The bathroom door shuts behind you with a resounding thud and the noises coming from the stall cease. Your feet are firmly rooted to the ground though you desperately want to leave. There is some rustling before an unclick of the lock and the bathroom door swings open.

As you suspected, two people walk out of the stall; a man in his mid-thirties with a poorly buttoned shirt that he frantically tries to tuck into his jeans and a woman about the same age with rumpled hair and crooked skirt that she hastily tries to straighten. The two of them look at you, expecting you to do something, you're not sure what. All you can do is stare at them. You are completely out of your wits here and though you've had your fair share of awkward moments (basically anytime making out with Finn and his problem) this easily tops them all.

You are unsure of the correct procedure in this predicament. You almost feel rude for interrupting them, but clearly they are not hormone driven teenagers sneaking off for a quickie (like your two best friends), so why are they doing it in a public bathroom? That thought alone makes you gag just thinking about how nasty and germ infested this place must be. The two start fidgeting; the man scratches his neck while the woman's gaze shifts between you and the man at a startling speed. Finally, your brain and body connect, and you take a half a step backwards.

"I'm sorry," you barely mumble before turning around and exiting the bathroom. You high-tail it out of the mall, through the parking lot to your car, and slide into the driver's seat. Your heart is pounding so fast, it's almost as if you were the one who had been caught having sex in the bathroom. You laugh at that thought, after the awful experience from your first (and only) time there is no way you are ever doing that again until marriage, and even then it will be in the privacy of your own bedroom. You wonder what it is that bothers you more, the fact that you walked in on them or what they were actually doing. You're not sure, and you don't want to think about it, so you turn on your car and start to drive.

After five minutes of aimless driving, your body makes you aware of why you headed to the bathroom in the first place. Apparently shocking and extremely awkward incidents do not eliminate the necessity of bodily functions. You pull into the nearest fast food place and though you are now increasingly wary of using any public restroom, you know you can't wait the rest of the drive to get back to your house. Luckily, there is no incident this time and once you finish your business, you get in your car making your way towards downtown Lima.

You don't want to go back to your empty house and be bored to death, so you cruise around town until you come across a small park with a wooden playground. There are a fair amount of kids playing and it seems like this place could be a perfect distraction from the crazy shit that you just witnessed. You wonder what you did to deserve some of the events that have happened in your life; getting pregnant, getting kicked out of your house, getting mono, getting to see your baby that you gave up for adoption, getting hit by a car. Now you can add getting mortified by walking in on two strangers in a public bathroom to the list of crappy incidents you've had to endure. And okay, some of them had a good explanation or were your fault, but sometimes you felt like someone up there was out to get you. But you suppose that's neither here nor there.

You hang out at the park for the rest of the morning and afternoon. You think you even fall asleep for a little while, but you aren't really sure. You can't seem to get the thought of those two people off your mind. Why did they have to hook up in a bathroom? Surely they could have rendezvoused at a more private location such as one of their houses. That would have been the practical thing to do. In your gut you already know the answer to your question. It wrenches your heart because the thought reminds you of Russell and what he did to your mom. You were over it now, but he really hurt your mom and anyone who is a cheating bastard like him isn't worth your time of day.

You pull out your phone and see that you have no new messages. Rachel still hasn't texted you back from this morning. This unnerves you slightly. Even if she is busy or has a full day of doing "Berry" things with her dads, she always texts you to tell you why she can't hang out or at the very least that she is busy and will text later. You hope she's not mad at you, but thinking back on your recent conversations you can't think of anything that you did to cause her to be upset. You decide to send her another text; maybe your first one didn't go through.

**To Rachel: You won't believe what happened to me at the mall today! I have so much to tell you… call me when you're free. :)**

You think about inviting her to Santana's tomorrow, and though the two have a somewhat amicable friendship, you definitely don't want to push it. You decide to call it a day and head back to your house to help out with dinner.

The first thing you notice when you open the front door is the delicious smell of garlic bread. Excellent, that means pasta of some sort for dinner. You walk into the kitchen to find your mom with her apron on (you have tried to convince her it's not necessary to wear one to no avail) standing over the stove stirring some sauce. You peek over her shoulder to see that it is alfredo sauce and you get giddy at the thought of your favorite meal, chicken alfredo. Your mom turns to look at you.

"Your favorite right?" You nod which causes her to give you a small satisfied smile. She turns back to the stove but still continues to talk.

"Vegetables are in the fridge." Of course you already know this; it is merely her way of inviting you to help prepare the meal. So what she really is saying is more like, _If you are going to stay in the kitchen, you can at least make the salad_. You open the fridge, pull out the veggies you need, and get to work.

Nothing else is said between the two of you and you are perfectly fine with that. Your mom has the small kitchen television on, running the six o'clock news. Hardly ever does anything exciting or remotely scandalous happen in Lima, so you never pay attention to the local news. Somehow their tragic stories never seemed as bad as the things you had to endure through. That being said, you were fairly surprised when the anchor passed it over to a live reporter with some breaking news. You are chopping up peppers as the screen changes to show the reporter outside a house that is roped off with police tape. MURDER IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD is ominously written on bottom of the screen. Your hand stops moving mid-slice as the tag line definitely got your attention.

"_This is Clark Raymone reporting live from the Oakwood Hills Subdivision right here in Lima, Ohio. Earlier today, tragedy struck this residential suburb as one of Lima's own citizens was murdered. Douglas Pendel, age 36, was found by his wife Tracy, once she got home from work a little after four o'clock this afternoon. Pendel had several stab wounds in his chest and by the time authorities arrived at the site, he was pronounced dead. The murder is currently under investigation and the police would not make a statement about any known suspects. If you have any evidence regarding suspicious behavior in the area or any other useful information, please contact the Lima County Police. Back to you, Nancy."_

You look over your shoulder to your mom, but apparently she was too engrossed in her cooking to pay attention to the news. You feel like you've heard the victim's name before, but you can't seem to remember where. Perhaps he was an acquaintance of your parents or went to your church. You hurry to finish the salad and make a note to yourself to ask your mom during dinner.

Like usual, after your mom asks you about your day ("Boring.") and you ask your mom how work was ("Nothing out of the ordinary."), the two of you fall into an uncomfortable silence. Typically, you would ignore the awkwardness and bask in the quiet, but tonight you actually have something on your mind.

"Did you know a guy called Douglas Pendel?" Your mom looks up from her plate her eyes wide. You suppose you threw her off as you never start conversation topics during these dinners. She quickly composes herself and answers.

"No, why do you ask?" Clearly your mom didn't hear the news report.

"No reason, he was just on the news is all," you take a bite of garlic bread and swallow before continuing, "His name sounded familiar so I thought maybe you knew him, from church or something…" your voice trails off at the end of the sentence. Your mom shakes her head in response.

"Never heard of him." She takes a sip of wine and cuts into a piece of chicken. "What was he on the news for?"

"He was murdered," you state plainly. You feel like you should have more empathy towards the man even though you don't know him, but for some reason there is a nagging in your stomach about this man. You mom looks up from her plate with a rather uninterested face.

"Oh," she replies. She looks at you as if trying to gage your thoughts on the subject. Thanks to many years of practice, you easily keep your expression unreadable. "That's a shame." Maybe your mom is a little more like you than you thought (or would the reverse be true since she is older?). She's had enough hardship in her life with the affair and divorce to go along with being a mother to you during your child delinquent phases, that the death of someone she doesn't know simply isn't cause enough for her to care. You think the two of you are getting a bit better though, after all time heals all wounds.

You finish the rest of your dinner in silence and though you offer to help your mom with the dishes, she shoos you out of the kitchen so you head up to your room. You know from the moment you step into the room that something is off. Sitting on your desk (which is usually cleared of all items for maximum homework space when necessary) is a white rectangular object. As you get closer to the desk, you immediately recognize the object; it's the same tablet that you had seen in your dream last night. The screen is flashing, so you pick it up to see what it says.

As soon as you lift the tablet off the table, the flashing stops and words begin to appear on the screen.

_Objective One: Douglas Pendel – Complete_

Your heart stops, you knew you had recognized the name. Before you have time to think about what this means, the screen erases itself and new words are formed.

_Objective Two: Shannon Glass – Complete_

This information confuses you. Who the hell is Shannon? And what did it mean that your objective was complete? The screen erases itself again and suddenly a video appears.

There is a man and a woman standing in what looks like a bedroom partaking in a heated discussion. There is no sound, but judging by the man's face and body language, it definitely looks like they are fighting. You can't see the woman's face, but the man looks furious as he invades her personal space and you gasp as he backhands her across the face. The man charges out of the bedroom and the woman turns to watch him leave. She has her hands covering her face from the slap, but when she lowers them you see a tear-stained face that you immediately recognize. The woman is the same one that you interrupted in the bathroom earlier today. And judging by the fact that the man who just hit her looked nothing like the guy from the bathroom, you know that your suspicions were true.

The scene flashes forward and you see the woman's husband (boyfriend? you're not sure) knock on the door of the same house you saw in the news report an hour ago. Again the scene flashes and now you see the woman in a car as she is parked a few houses down the street watching the event unfold. Tears are streaming down her face and she makes no effort to subside them. From this view, you see the door to the house open and the man force himself into the house.

Again the screen flashes forward. The woman is still in her car though now she is shaking (with fear? anxiety? guilt?). A car pulls into the driveway and a well-dressed woman gets out and walks into the house. Though you can't hear it, you can almost imagine the ear-piercing scream she lets out upon finding her dead husband on the floor. On cue, the woman in the car turns on the engine and leaves.

Another flash forward, and now the woman is in a bathroom. She is frantically searching through her cabinets. She grabs multiple bottles and pours their contents out onto the countertop. Hundreds of pills spill out; a variety of sizes, shapes, and colors. As if they were candy, she scoops up a handful and begins popping them in her mouth. Taking at least three at a time, she swallows the pills again and again and again until her body slumps down on the floor. The screen flashes to the next scene as the EMTs inside the ambulance try to resuscitate the woman, but their efforts are futile. You see her heart monitor flat line and know the woman was successful in her attempt at suicide.

The screen goes blank. Before you have time to analyze what you just saw, words start to appear on the screen again.

_Objective One and Objective Two complete. Return to headquarters to receive your next objective._

The screen goes blank and after staring at it for a good five minutes, you determine it is going to stay that way. Your thoughts are so messed up you can't even make it over to your bed to sit down comfortably, instead you slump down on the floor next to your desk. The only coherent thought you have right now is "What the fuck?" which you breathlessly whisper aloud. You try to make a point not to swear very often, but being as the situation definitely warrants it, you can't make yourself care.

You try to recall everything that happened in your dream last night, you were so sure it was a dream but now, well now you weren't really sure of anything. The only thing you are sure of is that you sure as hell are not going back to headquarters. You are almost positive that headquarters is the abandoned warehouse and there is no way you are ever going back there.

You desperately want to tell someone about this so they can laugh and tell you that the whole scenario is completely ridiculous and utterly impossible. Someone to assure you it was just mere coincidence that you walked in on those two people and those same two people just happened to die today. You know who that someone is that you want to talk to, but you already texted her twice today with no response and you don't want to seem needy. Your mom's voice beckons you out of your thoughts and you head downstairs to see what she wants.

Your mom asks you to take the trash out and though you would rather have just helped her with the dishes, you accept her request and grab the bag. You don't know how long you spent in your room after dinner staring at the tablet and replaying the events in your head, but it is dark out as you take the bag of trash out to the can sitting at the end of your drive. You often wish you had a brother to take care of the dirty chores like taking out the trash and cleaning the attic. You are halfway back to the house when a white cloth appears out of nowhere in front of your face. The hand attached to the cloth forces the fabric over your nose and mouth, and you slowly see your house slipping away as your eyelids flutter and then permanently close.


	3. Objective 3

**A/N** - In honor of the opening of the Hunger Games, I'm putting this chapter up earlier than I planned. Enjoy and may the odds be ever in your favor!

**Disclaimer** - I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions

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><p>Objective 3<p>

You wake up to a flickering light from in the room inside the warehouse. You are standing in front of a podium and as you look to your left and right, you see there are people in the room again with you. You want to know how the hell you got here, and you intend to find out. You turn with intentions of talking to the man you assume is still sitting at that desk, only you can't move your feet. You look down thinking that once again your body and mind are not on the same page, but for once it is an external force stopping your movements. Your legs are locked into the floor by some metal contraption. At least now you understand how you were able to stay standing while unconscious. If these people aren't above locking you into the ground, then they certainly have no problem drugging you and forcing you back to 'headquarters.' Thus, this is the scenario you decide has taken place.

You think back to how you got out of here the first time, which leads you to pick up the tablet in front of you. Read the tablet, see your objective, and wake up from this nightmare in your warm, comfy bed. That's how it worked last time anyway. Instinctively, you reach out and grab the headphones, knowing that the tablet won't turn on until you put the headphones on. Once they are positioned over your ears, the voice speaks.

"_Welcome back Quinn Fabray. You have successfully completed objectives one and two."_

Pictures of a man and a woman appear on the screen along with the names Douglas Pendel and Shannon Glass under each picture respectively. A red X is drawn through both pictures and the voice continues.

"_You will be responsible for the deaths of three more people. You will complete each objective in numerical order. After you complete each objective, you are to return to headquarters to receive your next objective. By August, you will complete all five of your objectives."_

"_Pick up your tablet to see your list."_

With the tablet in your hands, you are already one step ahead of the voice. On the screen, the five names appear, but the first two have a distinct line drawn through them as you have already completed those objectives. You have already caused the deaths of two people. A name flashes on the screen and the voice is back.

"_Objective three: Jackson Drell." _

The screen on the tablet goes blank and so too does the rest of the room.

* * *

><p>You open your eyes to a blur of pink as you lay on your stomach, face stuffed straight into your pillow. The events from your dream last night (it has to be a dream because these sorts of random incidents do not happen in real life) swirling in your head. Similar to inception, you are unsure where exactly the dream ends and reality begins. You skip a shower this morning as you will probably just get sweaty lying out in the sun all day by Santana's pool. You check your phone and are excited to see a new text message. Your hopes fade when the sender is not the brunette you wish to hear from.<p>

**From Santana: come over whenever, ill keep it PG while ur here ;)**

You scoff at the second part of the text, Santana has never made an effort to hide her affection for Brittany especially after she got thrown out of the closet and they started dating officially. You shutter at the thought of all the times you've walked in on them in compromising positions, though thankfully they always still had their clothes on, and you never actually caught them in the act. You glance at your alarm clock and see it is almost eleven, which is pretty late for you to stay up even on a weekend. You send her a quick reply.

**To Santana: Be over in a few.**

You head downstairs to grab some breakfast replaying the visions from your dream last night. You find it odd that you had a similar dream two nights in a row, but you've had reoccurring nightmares before so the idea doesn't completely surprise you. Like yesterday morning, you see a note from your mom on the kitchen counter. You grab yourself a bowl and spoon for some cereal as you read over what was written.

_Quinn, _

_I had Book Club at 11. This is the second night in a row you have texted me to tell me you were going to "hang out with some friends." You know I don't mind you spending time with your friends, but you could have easily told me this before you took out the trash and just left last night. Leave me a note if you're going out today, if not I'll be back around 1._

_Love,  
><em>_Mom_

You abandon your empty bowl and rush back up to your room where you left your phone. You scan through your sent messages, though there's not many there, and second from the top you see a text sent to your mom at 9:48 pm.

**To Mom: gonna hang out with some friends, be back l8r**

You search further through your outbox recalling your mother's note from yesterday. You see another text sent to your mom at 11:56 pm from two nights ago.

**To Mom: gonna hang out with some friends, be back l8r**

You gulp and feel your body heat up in anxiety. There is no way you sent those text messages; being friends with Rachel has dramatically increased your grammatical accuracy in all manners of communication. Well, more like she gave you a twenty minute lecture after you used shorthand in a text once and therefore you stopped doing it indefinitely. The note said you sent the text after you took out the trash, when the mysterious white cloth (chloroform maybe, didn't that make you pass out?) came literally out of nowhere and knocked you unconscious. You jump to the only available conclusion: that person must have sent the text.

But if that person, a potential criminal (right? after all he or she obviously had no problem drugging a teenaged girl!) sent the text, then that person would be real. Which would mean that you weren't dreaming last night…or the night before. Part of your brain scoffs at the absurdity, but the other part feels nothing but trepidation. Your mind flashes to the screen on the tablet with big red Xs through a man and a woman. Two people that supposedly you were responsible for killing. There was only one way to know for sure.

You flip open your laptop and open up the Google search engine. You type in 'Recent Deaths in Lima, Ohio' and click on the top result which is the obituaries from the local newspaper. You see two pictures and names that confirm your trepidation. The man and the woman you walked in on in the bathroom yesterday (you are positive that was real and not a dream), Douglas Pendel and Shannon Glass. You slump down on your bed, your body almost lifeless.

The tablet said it was your fault they were dead. But how? Just because you accidently walked into the same bathroom while they were engaging in inappropriate behaviors? Did they think you would tell someone? You didn't even know either of them. Besides who would you tell? You remember the video showing Shannon and her significant other fighting. Did she tell him of the affair? Did your unintentional happening upon them cause her to finally feel guilty enough to come clean? Then due to the death of Doug, her possible lover, by the other man, her supposed lover, she couldn't stand to live anymore and committed suicide? Your brain was buzzing and not in the good you've just had a little bit of alcohol kind of way. Your thoughts were all over the place, but surely it was nothing more than a mere coincidence. Anyone could have walked into that bathroom and caught them. You didn't cause Shannon to expose the affair, you didn't stab Doug with the knife, you didn't shove the pills down Shannon's throat, you didn't kill them. It was just a coincidence, it wasn't your fault.

You've made your decision. However real or unreal the whole creepy white warehouse and tablet with objectives may or may not be, you are not a killer and it was just a fluke chance that those two people who were on your list died. You did nothing wrong and there was no sense worrying about it. You sit up and close your laptop before getting up to change into your bathing suit. A good day with Santana and Brittany will be a welcomed distraction.

You get to Santana's house right before noon and walk right in without knocking. Her parents aren't home, like usual, and you see a bag of chips in the kitchen which you grab on your way out to the back deck. Probably not the healthiest breakfast, but you couldn't care less at the moment. Brittany is in the pool doing laps (gross, who wants to work out in the summer?) while Santana lays in a chair listening to her iPod. When you get close enough to her without her moving, you assume she has her eyes closed beneath her sunglasses. Not sure what the best prank would be, you go with the first thing you think of. You cup a handful of water and splash it directly in her face. She bolts upright, arms flailing, sunglasses slipping off her face as she gathers her bearings. When she sees you with a smirk playing on your lips, she flies out of her seat and bolts at you.

"What the fuck, Fabray!" She screams as she plows her body into yours sending you both flying into the pool. You suppose you should have had a bit more foresight for her inevitable retaliation, but you were going to get in the pool eventually so you're not too bothered. Your face breaks the surface, and you get a quick glimpse of sunlight before your head is being forced under the water. Okay, so this you don't like very much. You struggle to loosen from her grip. The weight is lifted momentarily, so you shoot up to get air to breathe sputtering as you emerge only to be forced under again. Yep, definitely bothered by this now. Instead of grasping at her hands, this time you take a dirtier tactic and grab one of her boobs squeezing as hard as you can. Not in a sexual manner by any means, but merely to cause pain. Your plan works and immediately Santana lets you go, but this time you stay underwater to swim away.

Once you think you reach a safe distance you emerge to see Santana glaring at you from the opposite side of the pool, one hand covering her injured boob. You laugh at the sight of her. She sneers at you before letting you have it. Thankfully she's shouting in Spanish so you can easily tune her out since you have no clue what she is saying. Finally she switches to English for both your and Brittany's benefit.

"I knew you couldn't resist these knockers. Been staring at them for over two years. Finally wanted to get a good feel in before you head off to be a big shot ivy leaguer?" She's asking with amusement now, which you are glad at because it means she's not seriously mad at you. But the question makes you uncomfortable though you desperately don't want her to know that. So you fight fire with fire (or what you hope will be fire).

"You wish." You reply. It's a lame comeback, but it's better than admitting that yeah you have on occasion wondered what her breasts would feel like. Santana lets out a loud laugh as Brittany swims over next to her; apparently your fight interrupted her exercising.

"No. You wish." She looks at me with a sly smile, and I know she knows. The blush that creeps up on my face doesn't help my case either. Santana laughs again at my lack of response while Brittany has a small pout on her face.

"Whatever," you say to try to feign indifference and keep any last shred of dignity you have left. Santana doesn't let up though.

"Though I don't think it's my boobs you really want your hands on is it?" She's smirking at you and you know immediately who she's thinking of. She couldn't be more wrong with her assumptions; you and Rachel are just friends. Besides she is engaged, completely straight, and deserves someone so much better than you. Not that you have ever thought about that sort of thing before. Because you haven't…ever.

"Shut up," you reply with little force. You can't meet Santana's eyes and you think this action eggs her on even more.

"We've both been with Frankenteen, hell I even slept with him, and there is no way he is satisfying her needs in bed. Why do you think I told her not to sleep with him in the first place? I bet she's a sphinx between the sheets, if I didn't have the best girlfriend in the world," she quickly plants a kiss on Brittany's cheek, "I'd totally show her a good time." Brittany nods next to her and adds, "Oh yeah, I'd do Rachel too."

"Shut up!" You shout with much more ferocity this time. You don't know where the anger came from, but suddenly you have the urge to punch the both of them in the face. How can they talk so bluntly and inappropriately about her? As much as you love your two best friends, you are suddenly glad for Rachel's engagement for it means neither of them will ever be able to put their hands on her. But the engagement leads you back to thoughts of Finn and how he can and does get to touch her. This fact bothers you more than it should, so you shake your head in attempts to get rid of your thoughts before exiting the pool. You walk around over to your towel and Brittany has at least the decency to look sorry while Santana gives you an indifferent shrug. She knows she's hit a nerve so she doesn't push it this time.

All this thinking about Rachel has reminded you that she never called you or returned your texts. You grab your phone out of your bag and take a seat in a chair as Brittany goes back to swimming and Santana gets out of the pool to sit next to you. You have no new messages and instead of your heart sinking in sadness, you have a new sensation of worry as you feel your pulse pick up. What if she actually is mad at you? You have no clue what you did to earn the cold shoulder, which is sometimes the direct cause of the problem when you do something wrong…you don't even know you are doing it. You decide to be proactive in fixing whatever the problem is.

**To Rachel: Hey, I haven't heard from you in a couple days. Did I do something to upset you? I'm really sorry for whatever it was. Hope you're having a good Saturday.**

When you look up from your phone you catch Santana staring at you. You don't really want to talk to her right now, but you don't really have many other options. Although she may be the bitchiest person you know, she can actually be rather insightful when she wants to be. Plus she's had experience with people shutting her out and not talking to her (mainly Brittany and it was mainly Santana's fault).

"I think Rachel's mad at me," you state plainly as you look out at her backyard.

"What'd you do?" You laugh that she automatically assumes it's your fault, though given your past history (adversaries, teammates, acquaintances, finally friends) you would have made the same assumption.

"I don't know." You see her turn her head to get a better look at you, but you refuse to meet her gaze.

"When's the last time you talked to her?"

"A few days ago. We went shopping for college stuff." You can see from your peripherals that she is waiting for you to continue, but you have nothing more to say.

"And?"

"And what?" You finally turn your head to shoot her a questioning glare. She rolls her eyes at you.

"Did something happen while you were shopping?"

"No," you answer immediately but then your brain catches up to your mouth, "I don't know. Maybe?" You finish weakly. Santana huffs and leans back in her chair, but still has her eyes on you.

"What were you shopping for?" Maybe through her questions, Santana will inadvertently coax an answer out of you to explain the reasoning behind Rachel's actions.

"Just some stuff for our rooms next year. I needed new bedding and she insisted I get some posters to liven up my predictably boring dorm room. She got a new bookshelf which I will probably have to put together for her because Finn can't read instructions. She was trying to decide on a color scheme for her room, but I don't think she came to a conclusion on that front." You laugh remembering the experience of shopping with an extravagant friend who believes that a well picked color scheme can make or break a room. You wanted to call her Kurt Hummel, but weren't sure if she would take that as an insult so instead you bit your tongue and nodded.

"Did she ask you to put together her bookshelf?"

"No," you shake your head, "should I have offered?" Santana shrugs.

"Seems overboard. What colors was she choosing between, hot pink and sunshine yellow?"

"I don't remember." You disregard her sarcasm. Of course you remember, but you don't want Santana to know how much you pay attention to everything Rachel says. She'd never let you live that down. Santana seems to sense your evasion.

"Ooookay Q," she drawls. "Did she ask you what you thought?"

"About what?"

"You know what, the damn colors!" She sees your smirk and realizes you were messing with her. She huffs again, but says nothing waiting for your reply.

"Yeah." You suppose you should be more cooperative, but you consider frustrating Santana now as payback for her comments in the pool.

"And?" She grits out. You can tell her patience is wearing thin so you decide to be straight with her.

"I laughed." Her brows furrow in confusion. "Then I realized she was serious so I told her that she could pull off any color scheme she chooses."

"So you didn't tell her which one was your favorite?"

"No," you reply shaking your head. "What does it matter? I'm not the one living there."

"Seriously Q?" She rolls her eyes and now it's your turn to look confused. "She asked you because she values your opinion. Just like she asked you about having sex with Finn or getting engaged to Finn."

"I don't want to talk about Finn," you mumble in response.

"Like it or not, she cares what you think. And by not telling her your opinion, you basically told her that you don't care."

"She's knows I care about her, we're friends," you argue.

"It would be like you singing a song in glee and asking her what she thought and her just replying that it was good." Rachel would never use just one word to evaluate a performance. She would give some praise (if it was warranted) along with a lot of constructive criticism (which she insisted was always warranted as everyone including herself has room for improvement).

"But I said that she would be able to rock any color she wants, what's wrong with giving her a compliment like that?"

"She doesn't care about the possible colors she thinks would be best, she cares about what color you think would be best."

"So she's mad at me because I tried to give her a compliment instead of telling her what I actually thought?"

"Could be." She shrugs her shoulders, her answer not very helpful at all.

"Hmm, and here I thought she would get mad at me if I told her that her whole color scheming was ridiculous. Looks like I was wrong," you say sarcastically. Santana raises her eyebrows at you.

"Is that what you really think?" You squint your eyes at her. No, it's not, but you're sure not telling her that; you would like to have some dignity remaining when you leave her house today. You lean back in your seat and return your gaze to Santana's backyard. Brittany completes a few more laps (seriously how long can she swim before her arms and legs fall off?) before you speak again.

"Do you think she'd really get mad over that?"

"This is Rachel Berry we're talking about. That dwarf takes that shit seriously." Santana's no longer looking at you; instead she is facing the pool, probably watching her girlfriend swim. You think Santana might be right, no matter how absurd it seems to you. Why would Rachel care so much about your opinion anyway, especially on something as trivial as a color scheme? Granted she put a lot more value on picking the right colors than you did, and as this is the only lead you have you decide to go with it.

You pick up your phone and are not surprised to see you still have no new messages. Guess Rachel was pretty ticked at you after all.

**To Rachel: I'm sorry I didn't tell you this at the time, but I think the dark blue and gold would work best together in your room. After all, gold stars are kind of your thing. Hope you're not still upset with me. Text or call…whenever you're ready.**

You're satisfied with that message and send it off hoping to at least get some sort of response by the end of the day. Brittany finally gets out of the water and lies on the chair on the other side of Santana, and you let your mind wander. It's not long before your body shuts down completely and sleep takes over.

What seems like minutes later, someone is shaking your body. Sometime during your slumber, you rolled onto your stomach and your sunglasses fell off. You rub your eyes and see that Brittany was the culprit to your prompt awakening. She smiles when she sees your eyes are open.

"Santana's making dinner. Want something to eat?" You sit up and look through the sliding glass door to see Santana in the kitchen in front of the stove. You shake your head before responding.

"Um, no I think I'll just go home. My mom's probably expecting me for dinner." You're not sure if she actually is or not, but you don't want to force her to eat by herself if she is home. Brittany nods in understanding before putting a hand out and helping you get up from the chair. You both head into the kitchen and Santana turns to look at you when she hears you enter the house. Brittany takes a seat on a stool by the counter, but you remain standing to signal your exit.

"Heading home?" Santana asks. You nod, knowing you don't need to explain yourself.

"Good luck with the midget. Let me know how it goes." She actually sounds sincere, and after the advice she gave you, you might actually cater to that request. You nod again before saying a quick goodbye and heading out to your car.

On your way back, you notice that your tank is only about a quarter full, so you decide to stop for gas. You drive to the nearest station that is on the main drag where Breadsticks and the other fast food places are. The place is packed as you pull in, but you see one empty spot so you zoom over to it and see a blue minivan gunning for the same spot from the opposite direction. You slip in next to the pump just before the minivan gets there effectively cutting it off. You want to do a fist pump, but with the driver in the other vehicle scowling at you through his windshield, you push back that thought. The minivan man reverses and drives towards the station exit. You don't feel too bad for cutting him off; there is another gas station right across the street with the exact same price.

You get out of your car and swipe your credit card waiting for the machine to authorize your card. It beeps at you letting you know you can now choose you fuel type and begin fueling. Your hand is halfway to the Unleaded button when you hear the squealing of tires, honking of a horn, and the sickening crunch of metal smashing together. You, and everyone else at the gas station, turn towards the main road as the sounds of more honking resonate through the air. There is a semi-truck stopped directly in front of the gas station exits, blocking your entire view of the accident. Since there's not a whole lot you can do, you turn back around and fill up your car, hoping the semi wasn't involved so it will leave by the time you're done pumping gas. You finish filling up your car and semi-truck has yet to move. You see one the cars at the gas station drive around the back of the building. Thinking there might be another exit, you follow and find an alley that leads to a cross road. Knowing there will be traffic; you avoid the main street and take the long way back to your house.

The door is locked when you get home and though you haven't looked in the garage, you guess your mom's car isn't there. You walk into the house; it feels as empty and lonely as when you left. Some things never change. You make your way to the kitchen and see your mom has written on the note you left her. Apparently the ladies in her book club invited her out to dinner and drinks tonight, and she won't be home until later. You hope your mom holds back on the drinks part of the evening, but you sincerely doubt that will happen. Looks like you're fending for yourself tonight.

You look in the fridge to see if there is anything edible and the first thing that catches your eye is leftovers from last night. Typically you don't like eating the same meal two nights in a row, but as it is your favorite food, the prospect of eating leftovers doesn't bother you and it will be quick to heat up. Besides, once you're on your own at college, leftovers will probably become a staple in your diet, so better start preparing yourself now.

You eat your food by yourself in silence at the too big table, with too fancy dishes, and too expensive cutlery. You sometimes wish your mom would have left this house for Russell in the divorce settlement. You try to think of a happy memory you had living here, but your mind is coming up empty. You can think of a shit ton of bad occurrences- having sex with Puck in your bed, Finn outing your pregnancy to your parents, Sam trying to get a little somethin' somethin' more from you- but you can't remember a single good memory happening in this house. Hell, you even took your letter from Yale to school, opening it in a bathroom and finding you got accepted literally minutes before Rachel walked in with news of the proposal. On the plus side, you wouldn't feel bad about leaving this place when school starts at the end of August. Well, you do feel a bit guilty for leaving your mom here alone, but she's got lots of clubs to keep her occupied plus her new job so you're hoping she will manage just fine.

You go into the living room and turn on the TV, but after a few minutes of channel flipping you find nothing remotely interesting on. You head up stairs to your room to shower and maybe go online for a bit before going to sleep. When you enter your room, your body stops mid-step, frozen with one foot still in the air. You're unaware of it falling down and connecting to the floor with a soft thud. Sitting on your desk is an object you immediately recognize, yet hate to find waiting for you: the tablet.

In a trance your body moves over to the desk, as the screen is flashing, and once you pick up the device, it relays its message to you.

"_Objective Three: Jackson Drell – Complete."_

How is this possible? You don't even know the guy nor did you encounter anyone today besides Santana and Brittany, and clearly this was a different person. Before your thoughts could go any further, the screen begins playing a video.

There is an overhead view of gas station on the main street with all the pumps full. You can even see yourself step out of your car and slide your credit card into the machine. The blue minivan that you cut off is sitting at the exit, clearly intent on heading across the four lane street. There is a slow semi-truck approaching in the right lane and an SUV in the left lane approaching from the left of the exit.

The scene flashes to inside the minivan and the driver sees only the semi, as the SUV is hidden temporarily by the large truck. Since, the semi is moving slowly and no cars are coming from the opposite direction, the driver pushes the gas pedal. His minivan makes it into the second lane before the unseen SUV collides into him, a bone crunching T-bone crash.

The scene flashes again and there are paramedics at the sight trying to remove the driver's body from the van. There is no desperate attempt to save the man's life; the mangled body being pulled out was clearly dead on impact.

The screen goes blank, and you drop the tablet in a rush to the bathroom. The entire contents of your delicious reheated meal come back up as you keel over the toilet. This was not happening. This could not be happening. This wasn't real. You repeat that mantra in your head over and over, until you think you've got yourself convinced. You still feel queasy, but you force yourself to get up and go back into your room. Lying on the floor where you left it the tablet reads exactly what you expected.

_Objective Three complete. Return to headquarters to receive your next objective._

An upsurge of anger swells within you from the complete lack of control you have over this situation. The time for avoidance and denial is over. You want answers and you want answers now. Leaving your mom a note saying you were going over to Santana's house (you doubt she would get it until the morning anyway if she did indulge in drinking tonight), you set off for your evening walk. But tonight you have a destination in mind. No more of them drugging and dragging you from place to place. You are going to that damn warehouse to get some damn answers, Quinn Fucking Fabray style.


	4. Objective 4

**A/N- **Sorry, this chapter has been harder to write and is much longer so I decided to split it up. I really wanted to get something up though since it's been a while.

****Disclaimer** - **I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

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><p>Objective 4<p>

With a purpose to your walking, you make the five mile journey to the warehouse a lot faster than your first time. You could have saved an hour by just driving, but due to the fact the last two times you went to 'headquarters' you mysteriously ended up in your bed the next morning with no recollection of how you got there, you figured it would be best to walk. That and you needed to get in some sort of exercise for the day.

The only problem with the walk was that your resolve has started to slip. You want to know who these people are and why you have become part of their sick plans, but you won't lie and say that you weren't a bit frightened. After all, they had essentially knocked you unconscious three times without so much as an explanation or apology. This thought made you wary of how much information you would be able to get out of them, but just because you had your doubts didn't mean you were going to let them see that. You reach the entrance to the warehouse, take a deep breath, put on your stone cold bitch face, and open the door.

You quickly make your way across the chamber to the objectives room as you are now going to call it. You push open the door with as much force as you can muster, hoping to startle some of the people inside with your grand entrance. Unfortunately, the door is rather heavy and it slowly swings open completely eliminating the effect you were going for. Not to be deterred, you march straight over to the white tux man sitting behind the desk and begin to shout accusations. Only not a sound leaves your lips.

You try again; you feel your mouth moving forming the words, you can even feel your breath as you try to speak, but no noise is formed.

You turn to look around the room, there are a few less people standing at podiums, but once again no one seems to notice you. You get closer to the other victims and try to speak to them. Perhaps you are the only one that can't hear yourself in this room, but apparently that isn't true. None of the people look at you. You are at your wits end; you must know if at least the other people in this room are real.

You walk over to the woman who stands at the podium next to yours. You hesitantly bring up your right hand and tap her on her left shoulder. She jolts at the contact and almost immediately twists her neck to look at you. Her eyes are wide in surprise; she glances over your shoulder at the tux man then back to you. You obviously won't be heard, but perhaps she can speak to you. You point to her then point to your mouth while moving it hoping she understands what you are trying to ask. She shoots another gaze over your shoulder at tux man. When she looks back at you, you notice her eyes have begun to water. She slowly moves her head to the left, holds it there for a few seconds, then moves it to the right. The movement was so subtle, you would have missed it if you weren't paying extremely close attention to her. She chances on more look over your shoulder before quickly turning back around and focusing on her tablet.

Her actions are nothing but confusing to you, though you suppose that's no different than this entire situation. On the plus side, you know that the other people (victims) in this room are actually real and probably just as freaked out as you are, judging by the woman's anxious and fidgety behavior. Not that that knowledge helps you figure out why you are here, but you find at least some comfort in the fact that you are not the only normal person going through this.

You are unsure how to proceed from here. You can't ask questions or make threats if you can't speak. You just want to leave, but you can't leave until you look at your tablet. You briefly wonder how the tablet appears at your desk at home and in this room without you bringing it to either place. Though you suppose that's not exactly top priority, just another item to add to the list of things you don't know.

Out of options, you step in front of your podium and grab the headphones.

"_Welcome back Quinn Fabray. You have successfully completed objective three."_

A picture of the man from the minivan appears on the screen along with his names, Jackson Drell. A red X is drawn through the picture and the voice continues.

"_You will be responsible for the deaths of two more people. You will complete each objective in numerical order. After you complete each objective, you are to return to headquarters to receive your next objective. By August, you will complete all five of your objectives."_

This was getting to be rather repetitive. They should come up with something a bit more realistic, like: 'Glad to see you again though you had no choice in the matter, by the way nice job on accidently killing three people.' That seems like it would be right up their alley.

"_Pick up your tablet to see your list."_

You grab the tablet and the five names appear on the screen with the first three crossed out. Three down two to go. You try not to think of the last name on the list hoping you will find a way out of this before you reach that objective. A name flashes on the screen and the voice speaks.

"_Objective four: Kristen Hammond." _

The screen on the tablet goes blank and so too does the rest of the room.

* * *

><p>You're getting pretty sick of the whole waking up in your bed with no recollection of how you got there. You flip over so you are lying on your back, staring up at the ceiling. You wish you could have gotten something, anything, from the people at the warehouse to let you know what was going on. Unlike the last two mornings when you woke up, today you have an ultimate sense of dread causing an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Unlike the first three people on your list, you have actually heard of Kristen Hammond. She goes to McKinley, a sophomore or junior, you're not sure. You had a gym class with her your junior year and though you never talked more than small pleasantries, she seems like a nice girl. You don't know how you are going to play a part in her death, but you are determined to make sure that does not happen. The only problem is you don't know how to ensure her safety either.<p>

You decide to start with what you do know. You roll off your bed and walk over to your desk taking a seat in the chair. You open a side drawer, pull out a notebook, and begin to write.

_What I Know_

_1. Two days ago – walked in on two people in bathroom - dead later that day_

_2. Yesterday – cut off minivan to get gas - died in car crash_

_3. They have drugged me (knocked me out somehow?) four times_

_4. Tablet appears once objective is complete_

_5. Must go back to warehouse after each objective (they will come get you!)_

_6. Do NOT want to accidently kill Kristen _

_7. White tux man needs a more suitable helmet_

_8. Rachel won't text me back_

Your list is starting to get off topic so you stop it there. Looking at the last number, you grab your phone off your nightstand, but you have no new texts or calls. Awesome, she is still mad at you. Perhaps one apology just wasn't enough. You don't want to overdo it though and you have much more pressing issues on your plate so you go back to analyze your list.

Though clearly you couldn't be at total fault for the death of those three people, one could say that had you not interacted with them on those days, they all may still be alive. You don't want to blame yourself for their deaths; you believe it was fate that caused them to leave this world early in their lives. However, it cannot be denied that there is one thing in common with all three deaths; you saw those people and interacted with them (unintentionally of course) on the day they died.

To you, the answer is simple. Stay as far away from Kristen as possible. Don't see her, don't talk to her, don't mention her to your friends, don't even speak her name. You're actually quite relieved because you have never seen the girl outside of school, and since its summer, this really shouldn't be an issue. In fact, you can just hole up inside your house (as awful as that will be) for however long is necessary.

You think back to what the tablet said, and remember that August was the deadline. You look at your calendar hanging on the wall beside you dresser; August was just over three weeks away. If you just bunkered in for three weeks and made sure to make no contact with Kristen, then she should be safe. The thought of not leaving your house for that period of time was daunting, but you'd much rather be lonely and bored out of your mind than be even the slightest bit responsible for any more deaths, especially someone you know. You'd rather be safe than sorry when it came to things you didn't seem to have any control over.

* * *

><p>Theoretically, staying in your house for three weeks straight seemed like an excellent idea at the time. Realistically though, it was turning out to be a total nightmare. You are only 7 days into your self-imposed imprisonment, and you are already getting stir crazy. Over the last week, you received texts from Santana and Brittany to go hang out which you responded telling them you had to spend time with your mom, or had to clean the house, or had a doctor's appointment. You even got a call from Mercedes inviting you to a cook-out for just the glee kids. You were tempted to go, knowing Kristen wouldn't be there, but when you asked if Rachel would be there and Mercedes said she was out of town, you decided it wasn't worth it and politely declined. Then you sent Rachel a text saying you heard she went out of town and asked where she was and if she was having fun. It was the first text you sent her since your apology, but still you received no reply.<p>

In addition to your nonexistent social life, you had to deal with your mother occasionally when she wasn't at work or one of her social clubs. It's sad that currently your mom has a better social life than you do. Last night during your family dinner night, you felt embarrassed when your mother asked you what you did that week and you could honestly say, "Nothing exciting." You could have even left the exciting part off and it would have been true. No eighteen year old getting ready to head off to college should spend their last summer sulking in their house trying to decide between sleeping and learning how to croquet (sleeping won). With every text from Santana spewing threats and accusations for ditching them, you had to remind yourself that this was necessary, you were not going to let Kristen die.

It's midafternoon on Saturday, one week into your lockdown, when you get a text from Brittany.

**From Brittany: pucks having a party 2nite, u should come!**

You try to come up with an excuse you haven't already used. Between her and Santana, you've thrown out pretty much all the good realistic ones over the past week, so you have to be a bit creative.

**To Brittany: Sorry, I can't. :( I have practice for church choir tonight, we are learning a new hymn for service tomorrow.**

**From Brittany: so come over after :)**

**To Brittany: I'll have to go home and sleep. Service is at 8 am and I don't want to fall asleep at church.**

The service wasn't until 11 but since you're already lying about singing in church tomorrow, what's the harm in making it look a bit more dramatic.

**From Brittany: I fall asleep at church no matter what, so u should come anyway!**

**To Brittany: I wish I could, but I really can't. Sorry :(**

You set your phone down on your nightstand and go back to rereading _The Hunger Games_ as you figure the conversation is over. You are startled a few minutes later when the phone vibrates against the wood.

**From Brittany: R u mad at me?**

Great, now she thinks that you've been ignoring them because you're mad. You're not sure how to convince her that is not the case without telling the truth as to why you've been distant.

**To Brittany: What? No, of course not!**

**From Brittany: then y haven't I seen u all week, u keep blowing me n S off…and not in a good way**

You are momentarily horrified at what she was implying in that last text, but this is Brittany you were talking to, so the comment shouldn't be that surprising.

**To Brittany: I've just been really busy Britt. I'm not mad at you guys, I promise.**

**From Brittany: Oh. well i just really miss u. i miss the three musketeers :( **

Not the three musketeers' reference. She tried that one on you to rejoin Cheerios senior year, but luckily you held strong to your skank ways (though looking back now you probably could have found some better rejects than the skanks). Brittany always knew how to tug on your heartstrings.

**To Brittany: I miss you too B, we will hang out soon, don't worry! :)**

**From Brittany: ooooooor we could hang out 2nite at pucks party! ;)**

You hate to turn down the offer especially since you've been avoiding your two best friends for the past week, but there is no way you can go to Puck's party. You've been to them before and you're positive a lot of people (graduates and current students) will be there. Not only are parties not your scene, but if there is any chance that Kristen might be there then you need to stay far, far away. Before you can try to reason with Brittany, your phone buzzes again.

**From Santana: stop with the bull shit n come to the party or i will come over there n drag ur skinny white ass outa ur house myself.**

Okay that was a much harsher method of trying to convince you. You laugh at the good-cop, bad-cop routine they've got going.

**To Santana: I can't go, but have fun. You guys should come over tomorrow or something. And I doubt you could drag me from my house.**

**From Santana: its not a rage or anything, just kids from glee. everyones gonna be there**

This catches your attention. If only the glee kids were invited then Kristen won't be there. And if everyone that was invited actually is going, then Rachel will. She won't be able to avoid you forever if you are in the same house at the same time.

**To Santana: Only the glee kids were invited?**

**From Santana: yup**

**To Santana: And everyone that was invited is planning on being there?**

**From Santana: if by everyone u mean berry, then yes i heard shes goin**

**To Santana: I heard she was out of town.**

**From Santana: guess shes back cuz puck said his jewish princess was gonna be there**

You smile at this information. Finally you will be able to talk to Rachel and explain yourself. This way she can hopefully forgive you and you two can put this whole situation in the past. Being able to stay away from Kristen and talk to Rachel makes this an opportunity too big to pass up.

**To Santana: Okay fine. What time?**

**From Santana: i thought u had church choir 2nite…**

You can almost see her smirking at you as she calls you out. Whatever, it's not like she hasn't lied to you before.

**To Santana: What time are you guys going to be there? Choir may not be going as late as I may have insinuated.**

**From Santana: yeah and im a straight white girl…oh wait that lie could work for u 2!**

**To Santana: Screw you Santana!**

**From Santana: u wish, tho u already rounded 2nd yesterday so ur halfway there ;)**

You're about to send a comment back telling her to fuck off, when your phone buzzes signaling another text.

**From Brittany: don't listen to S, were goin there at 10, see u 2nite! :D**

**To Brittany: Thanks, tell your girlfriend I hate her and I won't be talking to her tonight.**

Your phone vibrates twice as you got the next two messages almost simultaneously.

**From Brittany: she says she loves you too :)**

**To Santana: did not, later hater **

You smile as you lay back on your bed, actually excited for the first time in a week.


	5. Objective 4 Cont

**A/N- **Finally a Faberry interaction! Even splitting this chapter up, this one is still way longer than the previous ones. Guess I just had a lot to say. Enjoy!

****Disclaimer** - **I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

* * *

><p>Objective 4 (Continued)<p>

The party is a total bust. Santana was right in that only the glee kids had been invited. However, her information that Rachel was going to show up has so far been faulty. All the kids are gathered in the basement taking part in a not so riveting beer pong tournament. You keep having flashbacks to the one party Rachel threw junior year, the only difference is this time you're not drinking and Rachel's not here. You've passed on all offers of alcohol in hopes that Rachel will show up and you will be able to talk to her, which you need to do completely sober. As the minutes turn to an hour and everyone is getting increasingly trashed, you decide you've had enough of this shit. From your brief period of living at Puck's house and your one time visit to her house, you know that Rachel lives in the same subdivision, only two streets away. Since she's not coming to you, then you are going to go to her.

You leave your car at Puck's place since it's such a short walk to Rachel's house. When you finally reach her front door, you pull up short not knowing the correct etiquette for coming to someone's house this late at night. You don't want to wake her dads, but you don't even know where her room is in the house so that eliminates the throwing rocks at her window like you see in the movies. Hoping for the best (Rachel opens the door with a smile on her face directed at you) but expecting the worst (Leroy opens with a shotgun in his hand directed at you), you reach out and push the doorbell.

You can't hear any movement in the house indicating someone will be opening the door and you begin to wonder if Rachel is possibly still out of town. You don't want to be creepy and peer through one of the windows next to the front door, but after a minute of no answer you are starting to get antsy. Finally, you hear the quick patter of footsteps that sound fairly light which gives you hope that Rachel will be on the other side of the door. You hear a click and assume she has unlocked the deadbolt. The door swings open, and you are greeted with the sharp tirade of verbal protesting.

"How ill-mannered must one be to make a house call after eleven o'clock?" Rachel indeed answers the door, but she is standing half-hidden behind it, facing the wall. "What could possibly be so important that…oh…" She finally turns to see who is standing at her front door. You wonder if she always answers the door like this, thinking it's not really safe for her to be unaware of who is on the other side.

"Quinn." She states softly catching your gaze for a short moment before she averts her eyes to the ground her hands holding themselves in front of her. Now that she has come out from behind the door, you take in her appearance; a grey crew neck long sleeve that looks like it was just thrown on and extremely short pink cotton shorts. Tearing your eyes off her clothes, you look up to her face but she is still focused on the ground.

"Do you always answer the door like that?" You take a step forward, still on the porch but close enough to let her know you have intentions on entering her house if she invites you in. "Could be kind of dangerous," you add. She looks up at your comment, and you can't help but to smile at seeing those brown eyes that have been avoiding you for almost two weeks.

"Do you always go to people's houses late at night completely unannounced?" She asks back. Her face is completely blank and you can't tell if she is being serious, sarcastic, and humorous. Not being able to know her intentions makes you uncomfortable, and you are unsure of how to respond. Instead of answering, you ask another question back.

"Can I come in?" Your toes are literally touching the door frame, but she is about two feet back with her one hand on her hip while the other is holding onto the open door. Her brows furrow as if she is actually giving your request some thought. Who knew color schemes could piss Rachel Berry off so much.

"What are you doing here Quinn?" The question sounds as if she wanted to be bitchy, but it came off more exhausted than anything. She shifts her weight from her left leg to her right and removes her hand from her hip making her look much less intimidating. You really would prefer to do this inside her house, but if she's not going to let you in, you at least want to get something out of this visit.

The thought has been nagging your mind ever since your first experience with the warehouse. Every subsequent text message with no reply just added fuel to the flame that you must have done something wrong to make her start avoiding you. You bite your lip glancing past her shoulder into her house where you would rather have this conversation and then look back at Rachel.

"Are you mad at me?" Her jaw drops immediately as she shakes her head.

"What? No, of course not!" Her tone is sincere, almost accusing you for even entertaining the idea.

"Then why have you been avoiding me?" You shoot back. Your voice is starting to rise, and you know you will need to fight to control it so you don't say anything rash or do something you will regret. She looks scolded for a moment before she controls her facial features and replies.

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've just been really busy lately," she runs her free hand through her hair and she looks to your left, "getting prepared for college. Nothing too exciting, but of course all completely necessary." She finishes by staring directly at you with a straight face. Rachel may be a great actress, but you are not buying any of what she just told you.

You open your mouth to retort, but then just as quickly close it. Maybe this is just her polite way of trying to tell you that she doesn't want to be friends with you anymore. It's not the first time you've faced rejection though it is definitely the first time coming from Rachel Berry. You can feel the tell-tale sign of tears beginning to form in your eyes, but you refuse to cry in front of her. You two are currently in a staring war as she looks at you blankly and you search her face for any indication of why she is acting this way. You are feeling so many emotions; hurt, anger, fear, nausea, all leading you to be extremely confused. Falling back to your fail-safe method of dealing with problems that you don't understand, you shake your head and turn to walk away.

You don't know what you expected to accomplish by confronting Rachel, but you certainly hadn't thought she would straight up deny her actions. It hurts thinking that Rachel wasn't avoiding you because she was mad, but because she just didn't want to hang out with you anymore. Her anger could be resolved through a conversation about the problem, an apology, and if necessary some bargaining or groveling. But there was nothing you could do to make her continue to want to be your friend; you can't force some to hang out with you or tell them how they should feel.

You make it to the end of the sidewalk and step out onto the road when you hear your name being called out behind you. You sigh, wishing you could just continue walking away but you've always had this irrevocable pull towards her. You turn your body around to face her house and see Rachel jogging towards you almost halfway down the sidewalk. When she reaches you, she stands on the curb putting her eye level with you, something you don't think you have ever experienced. She doesn't say anything, just looks at you, her eyes wide with emotion, but you are unsure what they are trying to convey. Not wanting to waste anymore of your time so you speak up.

"What do you want Rachel?" You ask mirroring her earlier question. She tilts her head back looking up before taking a deep breath and replying.

"Would you like to come inside?" Her eyes shoot back and forth between your right and left eye. You wonder if that hurts, you tend to focus only on one eye when looking at someone. You want to go inside, clearly or you wouldn't have asked in the first place, but what's the point if Rachel is going to continue to be dishonest with you and evade the truth? Sensing your hesitation she adds a soft, "Please."

You bite your lip, already knowing your answer but you don't want her to know how much power she has over you. You nod as your response, and she barely cracks a small yet somewhat broken smile. Rachel turns on her heel, and you follow her into her house.

You both make your way silently through her house, up the stairs, and into her room. She takes a seat on the edge of her bed. You aren't sure if she wants you to join her or not so you cross the room and sit down on the swivel chair in front of her desk. Rachel watches your movements, but once you sit down she averts her gaze and is now looking at the wall in front of her. Her silence is really unnerving, but since she invited you in, she must have something to say so you decide to wait her out. You begin to spin back and forth in the chair to keep your nervous jitters in check. After almost ten minutes of nothing but the occasional squeak from the chair when you spin too far, Rachel finally looks at you and her face makes your heart drop.

"I'm so sorry," she barely whispers. Her eyes are watered and her hands are fidgeting on her lap. Awesome, this is what it must be like to have a friend break up with you. Wasn't it bad enough when your past boyfriends dumped you? For some reason, seeing Rachel so upset about not wanting to be your friend hurts a hell of a lot more than any of your breakups. You decide to just bite the bullet and get out of her hair.

"It's okay," you say as you stand from the chair. "I'll just, um, see myself out." Her eyebrows shoot up in confusion as she watches you walk over to her door. You stop and give her once last look barely choking out your next words, "Good luck in New York. Don't let anything or anyone stop you from achieving all the great things you deserve." You take a step out of her door when she speaks up.

"Wait! Where are you going?" She's standing at the side of her bed now and tears are slowly falling down her face.

"Home," you reply simply. "Don't worry, I won't bother you anymore." You state sincerely wanting her to know you're not mad and that you can accept she doesn't want to be your friend anymore.

"What are you talking about?" She quickly covers the short distance between you and catches your elbow in her hand. Your eyes shoot down to the contact as your skin prickles near her touch. You gently shake out of her hold, and you see a small frown form on her face from your action. You are standing outside her doorway while she is just inside her room, and you feel like you two are at the front door again; only this time she's the one wanting answers from you and you're not sure if you are brave enough to say your fears out loud without breaking down.

"I can take a hint," you say nonchalantly trying to seem indifferent. "I get that you don't want to hang out with me, it's not a big deal. I mean it's not like we were going to be friends forever or anything and with us going to different colleges you know. It's just…yeah." You break eye contact once you finish speaking slightly ashamed of your lame ending, but not really sure what else you can say.

"No, that's not- I mean partly- but no that's," you look up to see her red eyes from the tears as she stumbles to form a sentence, "- it's just- well not entirely- the thing is…" Any other time you would have laughed at her inability to articulate her thoughts, but right now all it does is solidify the feeling that she doesn't want you, well your friendship anyway, and she just can't find the best way to let you down. She takes a deep breath and reaches out to take your hand in hers. She squeezes it gently and you can already hear in your head what she is going to say.

"_I'm really sorry Quinn, but I just don't think we can be friends anymore. You are an amazing girl, so beautiful and talented, and you are going to do so much with your life. I just don't see how we will be able to continue this friendship; you'll be in New Haven and I'll be in New York. Our lives are on different paths and I don't want either of us to hold the other back."_

Rachel opens her mouth and you brace yourself for the inevitable. "You are completely wrong." Well that was not what you expected. Her thumb softly strokes the back of your hand which is extremely distracting. "Well, you were right about one thing," she looks as she bites her lip with guilt, "I was avoiding you." Knew it. You move to release your hand from her grip, but she holds on even tighter. "But not for the reasons you think," she adds on desperately.

You run your free hand through your hair wondering if you want to hear what her reasons are. Could they be any worse than your thoughts? Maybe she and Finn got hitched and she was too scared to tell you, or maybe she was pregnant and didn't know what to do. Oh God, yes it could definitely be worse! A tug on your hand brings you out of your thoughts, and she pulls you over until you are both sitting comfortably on her bed.

"So I should probably explain myself," she states as she stares at the duvet. When she looks up, you nod for her to continue. "Okay. For starters, I am truly sorry for avoiding you for the past ten days." You smile slightly that she has been keeping track, but it quickly turns into a frown as you wonder why she would do that. "Also I want to apologize for not being completely honest when you confronted me about it earlier, so I am sorry for that as well." You shrug, not quite sure if you want to forgive her until you know what exactly is going on. She leans back on bed and stares up to the ceiling while you continue to sit with your legs crossed staring at her. Rachel chests rises and falls with each breath and you are mesmerized by the pattern until her voice forces you to focus on her words instead of her body.

"To be honest, I was scared." It's weird that she is talking to the ceiling instead of directly to you, but if that makes it easier on her then so be it. You hold in your question waiting for her to continue, but after a few minutes of nothing except your quiet breathing, you decide to move the conversation along.

"Of me?" You ask softly, afraid of her answer. She turns her head sideways to look at you, hair splayed on the bedspread.

"No," she replies giving you a gentle smile, "never." You let out a breath you didn't know you have been holding while she returns her gaze to the ceiling and continues.

"I was scared of our future. Like you said, we'll be going off to college soon and really starting our lives. I was sitting in my room, trying to put that stupid bookcase together because Finn was busy and couldn't help and I was going to call you, but we had just seen each other and I didn't want to annoy you-"

"You wouldn't-" you start, but she cuts you off by talking over you while shaking her head.

"So I was working on that bookshelf trying to decide whether to call you and ask for help, when I realized that I wouldn't be able to do that anymore. I mean once we are at school, I can't just call you up and have you come over to help me with an English assignment or eat ice cream and watch stupid movies after Finn and I get into a fight."

You want to input your refutes to her statements, but she barely pauses for breathing let alone give you enough time to interject with your thoughts.

"I was so afraid that without having that closeness, that ability to see each other essentially everyday if necessary, that our friendship would not survive. I decided that the best way to deal with this problem was to wean myself off of you and slowly dissipate from your immediate presence, this way when it was time to say good-bye it wouldn't be nearly as hard. I would be confident that I could survive New York with you as a good friend who talked to me once a month to check in and visited when we would both be back in Lima for the holidays."

She seems to have stopped, so you take the opportunity as an opening to speak up. You start with the first thing that's on your mind regarding the last thing she said.

"Your good friend who you see occasionally instead of your best friend you talk to everyday?" It's a question, but your tone makes it sound more like a statement.

"Right." She doesn't even look at you when she replies. As much as her confirmation hurts, a good friend is better than no friend at all you suppose.

"Your weaning techniques could use some work. You basically gave me cold shoulder with your inability to call or text me back." You try not to sound aggravated, but your voice comes out a bit pinched.

"I know." She sighs and turns her head so she is looking at you again. "Turns out your friendship is a lot more difficult to dissolve than I had anticipated. You Quinn Fabray, are one hard lady to ignore." You fiddle with your hands on your lap, nerves going wild under her gaze.

"So you don't want to be friends anymore?" She lets out a loud laugh at your question. You glance over to where she is laying, confused at her reaction.

"No, I do. That's the problem," she replies shaking her head as a smile plays on her lips. Her response confuses you even more and before you know it, words are spewing out of your mouth harsher than you intend.

"It's a problem that you want to be my friend?" When she doesn't respond, you continue, "That didn't seem to be an issue before. Hell, you've been practically begging to be friends with me since you told Finn that Puck was the father. I thought we had moved past all the crazy shit that went down between us."

She keeps her eyes on you as she rolls fully onto her side, one arm placed under her head for support while the other reaches out to you and her hand rests on your knee. You glance down at the contact before focusing your eyes back on her face as she replies.

"We have, we definitely have." She squeezes your knee gently in assurance and the action sends a jolt down your left leg. "The problem was that I tried so hard to keep myself away from you so I could prepare for the day when you would no longer be here with me, but I just can't do it anymore. I value your friendship too much to spend these last days we have together ignoring you. You're my best friend Quinn," she pauses before adding, "Well, you're my straight best friend. Kurt's my gay best friend."

You snort at her last comment, though you're not sure at which part of the statement. You decide not to dwell on that fact as Rachel's hand has left your knee so she can wipe away the tears that are falling unabatedly down her cheeks. Your leg feels cold without her touch, but you have more important things to focus on right now, mainly reassuring Rachel that you can remain best friends even when you are no longer in Lima.

"Rachel, I'm not going anywhere. New Haven is like only eighty miles from New York City. Technically we could still see each other every day, but as that would be an expensive commute, we should probably stick to weekend visits." You stretch your right leg out and playfully bump her thigh with your foot. You smile at her, trying to make light of the situation, but her tears have yet to cease. She rolls off her side and onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling as if it has all the answers to her questions.

"It's just…" she takes a shaky breath, "I don't…I don't want to lose you Quinn." She lets out a sob as her tears continue to fall, and you can tell by the wetness on your face that you're crying now too. You decide not to point out how irrational her thinking was of her pushing you away if she didn't want to lose you.

Instead of questioning her, you crawl over to where she is lying on the bed and lay down next to her while snaking your arm under her neck. She immediately curls into your body, her face on your clavicle, her tears staining your shirt. You place the hand that is holding her on her lower back and rub what you hope are soothing circles. She brings one of her arms around your stomach and grabs your side pulling the two of you closer together. You are shocked at how intimate this position is, but you take comfort in knowing how good it feels, how right it seems. Her sobbing calms down into mild sniffling and you take the opening to comfort her.

"I'm right here Rachel." You give her a gentle squeeze. "I'll be here as long as you'll let me." You feel her hair brush against your neck as her head moves and assume the movement is her nodding at your offer. You both lay comfortably on Rachel's bed as her crying eventually stops and her breathing evens out. From your position, you can see her alarm clock which tells you it's just past midnight. You can't tell if Rachel is still awake or not, but you don't want to move or talk in case she is sleeping.

You're pretty sure your mom won't mind if you stay at Rachel's tonight as long as you send her a text to let her know that you won't be coming home. Deciding this will be your plan of action, you slowly reach your hand into your pocket, trying your best not to move your body too much and wake the sleeping figure that is laying halfway on-top of you. Careful to avoid the arm that is draped across your stomach, you slowly pull your cell phone out of your pocket. You manage to extract it from its confines when music begins blaring through the room as your ringtone goes off.

"Shit!" you curse softly at the poor timing of whoever is calling you. Rachel jolts up as you lean down to silence your phone causing her head to connect violently with your chin.

"Double shit!" you complain this time in pain as you grab your jaw. Rachel's hands go to her head as she looks around the room confused. Your phone is still blasting music, so you hit answer to stop the sound.

"What?" you growl into the phone. You open your mouth to stretch out your jaw wondering who is calling you since you didn't check before you answered.

"Whoa baby mama, chillax." Great, it's Puck. Your body feels cold now that you and Rachel are sitting at the head of the bed, bodies no longer touching.

"What do you want Puck?" The pain in your jaw is lessening so you turn to Rachel to see if she's okay. She's staring at you, obviously listening to the phone call and you point to the top of her head silently asking if she'll be alright. She nods her head with a smile and mouths _I'm fine_.

"Look Q, I know you weren't gettin' drunk tonight like all the rest of us who, you know, actually have lives." You're getting irritated with this phone call especially since you could be lying with Rachel had he not interrupted.

"Does this call have a point?" You snap back at him, your inner bitch flexing its muscles.

"Jesus Quinn, you need to get laid. I mean I know I turned you down when you were all crazy baby stealing ideas and shit, but I'd be more than happy to ob-obli- you know I'd totally hook up with you now." You don't know whether to laugh or be completely grossed out. You know he's probably pretty drunk, so you let him off the hook from a verbal smack down he would've gotten otherwise.

"I'm hanging up now." You state dully pulling the phone away from your ear.

"No wait!" he yells through the phone, and you don't end the call just yet. "Shit sorry Q. Look there's this chick who needs a ride home, she's kinda out of it and no one here is sober. Can you please come get her? Your cars still here…where are you anyway?"

"I had something to take care of," you look over and smile at Rachel who in return gives you a shy smile back.

"Right. So will you take her home? I swear I won't hit on you again, unless you come to me first," you can almost see him smirking through his suggestive tone.

"The first time was bad enough, I don't want seconds. But yeah, I'll be there in a few."

"Cool, thanks." You hang up and put your phone back in your pocket as you get off of Rachel's bed while she does the same.

"So you have to take an inebriated teenager home?" She asks as you leave her room and walk down the hallway.

"Looks like it."

"Do you know who the girl is?" You let her go first down the stairs and follow closely behind her.

"No, Puck didn't say."

"Well, that certainly is very noble of you." She turns her head to give you a brilliant smile as if you had done something actually worthy of her praise. You merely shrug.

"I'd want someone to do the same for me, if the situation were reversed." Rachel nods at your statement in agreement. You have made it to the front door and you know it's time to say goodbye, but you don't want to leave just yet. A thought comes to your mind, and you voice your question aloud.

"Rachel, why didn't you go to Puck's party?" She looks down, unable to look you in the eye as she responds.

"I couldn't stand the thought of watching you there having fun and being happy without me." You laugh at her response. "What?" She asks looking up, her eyebrows furrow on her forehead.

"It's just," you shake your head with a smile, "I had more fun arguing and crying with you than I did at that party." You take a step closer and grab her hand in yours. "I'm happy when I'm with you." You decided to say happy instead of happiest as to not freak her out, but your answer seems to appease her anyway. She drops your hand and throws her arms around your neck pulling you into a hug. You hold her close until she pulls away, but she keeps contact as her hands slide down your arms until they are intertwining with your hands.

"I've missed you," she whispers, but you are close enough to hear it loud and clear.

"I've missed you too," you state back smiling that you finally have your best friend back. You hear the clock in her living room strike once, notifying you that it's 12:30. "I should get going." You unwillingly let go of her hands and open the front door.

"Text me tomorrow?" She asks from the doorway.

"Are you actually going to text me back this time?" You ask back playfully, teasing her slightly for her previous actions. She bites her lip in response.

"Maaaaaaaybe." You can see the smile that she is fighting to keep of her face. You raise one of your eyebrows at her.

"Okay fine. I most definitely will." She gives you her bright future-star smile.

"Then maybe I will." You smirk at her before turning around and walking down the sidewalk.

"Goodnight Quinn!" She yells from inside her house. You look over your shoulder and give her a wave as she closes the front door.

* * *

><p>You're not even a block away from Puck's house when you can see by the vast array of cars on the street that the party has definitely picked up since you left. As you walk up his driveway, you see Puck sitting on the stairs to his front porch talking with Finn and Sam, each of them holding red plastic cups in their hands. You overhear their conversation as you approach the boys.<p>

"I don't know why she didn't come," Finn says while looking at the other two. "I don't think parties are really her thing though you know? Plus I don't think she likes it when I drink and stuff so maybe it's a good thing. Some time to just chill with the dudes right?" He finishes with a dopey smile.

"For sure," says Sam as he takes a swig from his cup.

"Straight up," Puck replies while putting out a fist to which Finn bumps after two failed attempts. The trio are laughing at Finn's actions when you stop in front of them.

"Where's the girl?" You ask impatiently. You'd rather spend the smallest amount of time around drunken teenagers as possible, past experiences show you don't have a very good track record in that department.

"Oh hey Quinn," Sam says smiling at you with glassy eyes. You wonder how much these boys have had to drink. Finn looks up at you now that he has been alerted of your presence, "Where have you been? I haven't seen you since Brittany suggested you, her, and Santana do a strip show." Your eyes widen in horror, not knowing that had even come up while you were at the party.

"Too bad Satan shot that down. Woulda been hot to watch." Puck comments. Sam nods unconsciously then quickly looks around probably checking to make sure Mercedes didn't see his action. Finn just sits there with his mouth open undoubtedly envisioning the scenario. God, you can't believe you dated all three of them.

Instead of telling Finn you were at his fiancé's house, where he should probably be, you ignore the question and focus on the task at hand.

"Look Puckerman, I don't have all night. Who is this girl I need to take home?" You ask loudly to make sure they know you aren't messing around.

Finn leans over to Sam and whispers, "Scary Quinn." Although in his drunken state, it is said loudly enough for you to hear and you roll your eyes while Finn and Sam lean back from your metaphorical wrath.

"Um, her name was Kelly?" Puck looks over at the other two questioningly, "Right? Or was it Courtney?" Finn shrugs while Sam leans his head back in thought.

"Who are we talking about again?" Sam asks.

"The girl who needs a ride home. The reason I am standing in front of you having this inane conversation." You answer sharply. Finn leans over again to Sam and says, "See I told you, Scary Quinn."

"Oh right," Sam replies, "Um was she the one that's on the swim team with me?" Finn shrugs and looks to Puck who answers, "Yeah! That's the chick."

"Oooooh. Okay." Sam responds and then takes a drink from his cup. Sam looks over at Finn who then looks at Puck who turns to look at you and soon you have three drunken eighteen year-olds looking at you with smiles on their faces like they solved your problem. You raise an eyebrow at their antics and lack of definite answer.

"Oh my God. So what is her name?" You all but yell at them in exasperation.

"Oh, yeah. No, it's um Krista." Sam replies confidently. Both Finn and Puck nod their heads in agreement. "Wait, no. Not Krista." Sam looks up again in contemplation. "It's, uh…Kristen. Yeah! Kristen, that's her name." Sam smiles brightly at you clearly pleased with his ability to remember her name. Finn nods again, probably agreeable to anything Sam says at this point and Puck chimes in, "Yeah, it's definitely Kristen, for sure."

Your breathing has picked up at the mention of the name, but you are positive there are a ton of Kristens at WMHS. Besides you have no idea if Kristen Hammond is on the synchronized swim team. But you need to be completely sure before you offer to give this mystery Kristen girl a ride home.

"Kristen Hammond?" You ask much calmer than your previous tone though quite opposite to your internal freaking out.

"Yeah that's the one," Sam replies nodding. "You know her?" You instinctively take a step back and try to control your breathing. You can easily get out of this situation. All you need to do is refuse to give this girl a ride home. Offer a practical reason, and if that doesn't work just bitch the boys out and leave. There is no way in hell you are letting that poor girl get in a car with you because only bad things will happen, that fact you are sure of.

"Yeah we had gym class together junior year. She's a total bitch. I'm not giving her a ride home." You state simply.

"Wow, that's pretty harsh Quinn," Finn replies.

"Yeah, she seems nice," Sam adds while Finn nods next to him

"Definitely seemed okay to me," Puck chimes in.

"That's because anything with boobs and a skirt is okay to you Puck," you retort back quickly. "Look she lives on the opposite side of town and if I have to drop her off I won't make my curfew. It's simple logistics, I can't give her a ride home." There. A perfectly good explanation for you actions.

"Like your mom really cares how late you're out, you're a fucking adult," Puck responds. There is accuracy in his statement, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Yeah, and Rachel says you stay over at her house late all the time so your mom can't care that much," Finn adds. You take a moment to revel in the fact that Rachel talks about you to Finn but you suppose most girls would talk about their best friends occasionally to their boyfriends, or um fiancés.

"Why can't she just stay here and go home in the morning? Isn't that what the majority of you are doing?" You ask trying to come up with an alternative, anything that will let you off the hook.

"Well yeah," Finn replies, but Puck shakes his head and interjects, "She kept saying that she had to get home because her mom would kill her if she found out she had been drinking at a party."

"Oh great. So you wanted me to drag this drunken girl home and what…ring the doorbell so her mom would find out anyway? No thank you." You state sarcastically while shaking your head. "This is ridiculous. Just have her sleep on your couch in the basement and send her home in the morning, her mom will forgive her eventually."

"But what if her mom's like really mean?" Finn asks. Both Sam and Puck nod as if this is actually a necessary concern.

"Seriously?" You arch your eyebrow at them. They all know your parents threw you out of your house, and yet they were worried about if Kristen's mom would be mean over some drinking at a party. "You guys are idiots. I'm sure she will get through it just fine." All three seem to be thinking over what you have said.

"You know I do think I saw her passed out on that couch downstairs," Sam states thoughtfully. Finn nods, though you doubt he even knows who Kristen is. Puck still isn't convinced though.

"Come on Q. You can easily sneak her into her room without her mom knowing. You're like a freaking cheerleading ninja. Would it really kill you to just give the chick a ride home?" You bite your tongue from spitting back your initial thoughts, _No but it might kill her._ You take a calming breath reminding yourself that all three boys are fairly drunk.

"I'm not giving her a ride, end of story. She's already passed out in your basement. Just leave her there and send her home in the morning." You turn away from them and head over to your car. You take only three steps before you hear Puck's voice.

"I don't even know why I asked you. Clearly once a bitch, always a bitch. At least I got one thing of yours that no one else can take." You stop dead in your tracks, fists clenched, blood pumping so hard you can hear the pounding in your head. You're not sure which part of the statement stings the most, all you know it that your body is acting on its own accord. Your heels turn you back around and before you know it you are standing in front of Puck who is now standing as well. Your right arm pulls back then swings forward, fist connecting directly in the middle of his left cheek. Your eyes widen at your actions, and you feel a sting in your right hand. Finn and Sam stare at you with their mouths open clearly too surprised to do anything productive. Puck grabs his jaw (you hope you hurt him a least a little bit) and stares at you in shock.

"Clearly once a dick, always a dick." You state with as much venom as you can. You turn and run away from them, ignoring their shouts at you, and jump into your car slamming the door shut. Your tears cloud your vision and your right hand is shaking in pain as you try to jam the key into the ignition. Finally, you get it in and start the car, stepping on the gas pedal and speeding down the road to get away from that house. You make it back to your house in record time, fortunate that not many cars were on the road late at night, because your driving had been influenced by the massive amount of tears in your eyes.

You turn your phone on silent before quietly entering your house and silently making your way up to your bedroom as to not wake your mother. You're pretty sure she won't care, especially since you weren't drinking, but you believe its common courtesy not to wake someone up while they are asleep.

When you get to you room, you fall straight on your bed, not bothering to take off the outfit you are wearing. Your brain is playing Puck's words over and over again on an endless repeat. You don't care too much that he brought up the fact that he took your virginity. Sure it was a douche-bag thing to say, but it was very much Puck and very much true. The statement had only further frustrated your already aggravated mind which then led to you punching him in the face. Damn. You punched Puck in the face! You let out a soft chuckle that subsides quickly as the pain in your hand reminds you of the deed. Drunk or not, you still think he deserved it so you don't feel the least bit sorry for your actions.

What really bothers you is the fact that he thinks you will always be a bitch. You've been trying so hard since senior year to be less of a bitch especially around people you don't know or students you formerly bullied. You try to remind yourself that you did the right thing. Statistics showed that you were 3 for 3 on deaths of people on your list when you had seen them that day. In order to ensure Kristen's safety, you had to stay away from her, even if that meant denying her a ride home. That wasn't a bitchy thing to do; Puck just didn't know your real intentions so he assumed you were being rude.

Even with those thoughts and legitimate reasons, it hurts knowing that people still think you are a bitch. You thought you had been getting better, but maybe Puck was right. Maybe deep down, there will always be that evil little girl inside of you that needs someone to want her, to tell her she's pretty, to have some sort of physical evidence of accomplishment, to be loved. But don't all girls feel that way? Surely you can't be the only one. These thoughts roll around in your head as you drift off to sleep.

* * *

><p>You wake up in the morning, eyes puffy and head pounding from your crying last night. You're lying on your stomach with your head facing the other pillow on your bed which your cell phone is lying stoically on top of. You see the screen flash and you wonder why your ringtone didn't go off before you remember silencing it last night. Without moving your head or the majority of your body, you clumsily swing your right arm out to grab the phone. When your hand grasps the device, you wince at the jolt of pain that shoots through your forearm. You bring both your hand and phone closer to your face for proper examination.<p>

The back of your knuckles have one large purple and blue bruise on them that makes you feel rather bad-ass. You can't wait to show Santana and tell her how you got it, though you doubt she will believe you until she sees Pucks face. You hope you left a bruise like yours on his cheek. You try flexing and clenching your hand a few times and the movement hurts, but the pain is somewhat bearable. Thinking some ice and aspirin will help it heal, you change your focus to your phone.

You see that you have 43 messages from last night, which is probably more than you've gotten in the last two weeks. You figure that the majority of them are drunken texts from your fellow glee club members and decide to start with the most recent and work your way back.

**From Puck: Im really sry about last nite. totally uncalled for. can we talk?**

It was sent at 9:53 this morning which, looking at your alarm clock, was about two minutes ago. You don't really want to deal with Puck right now, but at least he's not pissed that you punched him so you make a mental note to text him back later. You are about to move on to the next text when Rachel's picture pops up on your screen and you immediately press the answer button.

"Hello?" You voice is groggy with sleep and you desperately need some water, but have no motivation to move from your bed.

"Quinn! Thank Christ you're okay. Finn told me that you went home last night, but when you didn't answer my texts I was worried and he said you were probably just sleeping, but I had to know that you were okay." Her words spew out too fast for you to comprehend what she is talking about. You really only caught the first part.

"I didn't think Jews believed in Jesus." You mutter back eyes closing as you relax just listening to the sound of her voice.

"That is completely beside the point Quinn. Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?" Again her voice is frantic, and you are taken aback with the seriousness in her tone.

"I saw you last night." You state with a small laugh. "Were you worried I wasn't going to text you just because I hadn't sent one before ten in the morning?" You ask her teasingly.

"Well I'm sorry for being concerned when my best friend didn't text me back after I found out that there was a fire at the house of a party that she went to and the only evidence that she was not caught in the damage was from three intoxicated boys who claimed they saw her leave."

"Wait, what?" You roll over onto your back and try to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"There was a fire at Puck's house last night. Something to do with a wire short-circuiting or something, led to a spark in the lower level that caught on, but the firefighters were able to get it under control before it did too much damage to the upper levels. I was freaking out when I couldn't get a hold of you, I knew that you went back there and I thought that maybe…" Her voice trails off and you can hear her shaky breathing signaling that she is crying. You are definitely awake now, mind whirling with this new information.

"Rachel, I'm fine. Honestly, this is the first I'm hearing about this." You hear her hum softly in assent. "Is everyone okay, all the glee kids?" You immediately think of Brittany, but if Santana was by her side, which she no doubt would have been, your two friends should have definitely made it out safely.

"Everyone from glee is fine…now that I know that you're alive," she says with a slightly accusing tone. "There were a couple of kids with minor burns and Puck said one person had to go to the hospital and was at the time was in critical condition. I don't know who it was or what their status is though." She adds on somberly. Your heart drops at her admission and you sit up in your bed praying that whoever had to go to the hospital would be okay. You twist your neck from side to side to get out the kinks, and it is during this action when you see it on your desk. The white tablet of impending doom. You feel tears forming, and you know your prayers for the person in the hospital are futile.

"Quinn?" Rachel asks softly. "Are you still there?" You make your way over to your desk, eyes on the tablet the whole way. You're not sure if you can answer Rachel without completely breaking down which would lead to her questioning you which would make you have to lie to her which you really don't want to do. You take in a deep breath to steel yourself.

"Yeah sorry, I just," you're unsure how you want to finish the sentence. "I'm just glad that neither us of were there and that are friends are all okay."

"Me too," she responds.

"Sorry that I had you worry over nothing, but um I need to go." You're still staring at the tablet with its flashing screen, not sure if you want to see what will play on it when you pick it up. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"That sounds good," she replies. "And Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really happy that you're still alive." You chuckle through your tears.

"Me too, Rach. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, bye." You hang up the phone and set it on your desk next to the tablet. You don't want to pick up the tablet afraid of it confirming what you have already guessed must have occurred last night. With all the guts you can gather, you reach down and grab the tablet firmly in both hands and lift it off of the desk.

The screen stops flashing and words appear on the tablet

_Objective Four: Kristen Hammond – Complete_

The screen plays a video and you immediately recognize Puck's basement. There are two kids lying on the floor, a guy and girl intertwined on the couch, and in the corner of the room, farthest from the stairs, is a girl passed out on the ground lying between an ottoman and a chaise. Nothing in particular is happening besides the slow movement of the kids' chests as they breathe, but suddenly there's a flash of light through one of the walls. You don't know how fast this video is being replayed, but smoke begins to trickle through the wall and then the wall is in flames. The two kids on the couch wake up; confusion evident on their face. When they catch sight of the fire, the immediately jump up but stumble around in their intoxicated state.

Their mouths are moving as they shout at the other kids on the floor and successfully waking them up. The fire is quickly spreading through the basement and the four kids hastily make their way up the steps not even seeing Kristen's sleeping form in the corner. You don't know how much time has passed, but finally Kristen wakes up and you can see fear in her eyes as she coughs to expel the smoke from her lungs. She stands up, but almost immediately her knees buckle under her. She curls her body into the fetal position, eyes scrunched closed, chest heaving from her labored breathing. Finally a firefighter sprints down the stairs to check the area and picks up her body carrying her out of the room.

The screen flashes to the inside of the ambulance. The EMT is shoving a breathing tube down her throat, the skin on her face and arms melted from the fire. Her chest is barely moving as the heart monitor shows a decrease in pulse. The screen flashes to the inside of a hospital room where Kristen lies on the bed surrounded by nurses in doctors frantically trying to save her life. Her heart monitor shows a flat-line and the doctors try to electrocute it back into beating to no avail.

The screen goes blank for a second before more words return to the screen.

_Objective Four complete. Return to headquarters to receive your next objective._

You don't have time to read the message (not that you need to), when you feel the contents of your stomach coming back up. You rush to the bathroom, bending over the toilet to release all of the bile. Flashes of Kristen's burnt skin are stuck in your mind and you get sick all over again. Soon you are dry heaving as there is nothing left in your body to throw up. After minutes of sitting on your bathroom floor with your forehead resting on the lid of the toilet, you think you have everything out of your system.

You stand up on shaky legs and walk over to the sink, holding onto the counter for support. You wash your hands and face and rinse out your mouth, wishing you could rinse out your brain as well to erase the images that you just saw. You stand in front of the mirror, looking at yourself and drowning in your thoughts.

You can't believe what happened. You thought that by staying away from Kristen that she would stay alive. By not interacting with her, you would be ensuring her safety. But if you had just given her a ride home yesterday, none of this would have happened. She would be safe in her own bed and her mother would have been scolding her daughter for drinking underage instead of planning her own daughter's funeral. You tighten your grip on the counter as your body shakes in sadness and desperation.

For the first time since you've started with your objectives, you feel guilty. Maybe it's because you actually knew Kristen and knew that she didn't deserve to die. Maybe it's because you consciously tried to not cause her death and even through your efforts, you still failed. Maybe it's because this time you felt like you really could have changed the outcome of the event if you would have just given her that damn ride home. Your body is now shaking uncontrollably and you can barely recognize the wild eyes that are staring back at you. You storm back into your room and pick up the tablet before heading out of your room, down the stairs, through the foyer and out the front door.

You walk not even ten feet to the nearest tree, and chuck the tablet as hard as you can at it. The tablet smashes against the trunk with a resounding crash as the screen on the device cracks in half. You walk over to where it is laying on the ground, wishing you had some stilettos on for what you are about to do next. You lift your right foot up before bringing it swiftly back down and crunching it violently into the tablet. Even though your legs aren't as strong as they were before the accident, you can still do some major damage when your body is acting in a furious rage.

"Stupid!" Stomp. "Piece!" Stomp. "Of!" Stomp. "Shit!" Stomp.

"Quinn!" You whirl around so quickly, you almost lose your footing, but are able to quickly regain your balance to see your mom standing in the doorway staring at you.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Just having some technology problems," you mutter back slightly ashamed of your little outburst, but pleased that it did the trick in relieving some of your anger.

"You know we could have taken it to the Apple store to get fixed, though by the looks of it you might as well just purchase a new one," she states matter-of-factly.

"No!" you shout much too violently than is warranted for the conversation you mother thinks you are having. You see a frown appear on her face and you know that you unintentionally offended her.

"Sorry," you bend over and pick up what's left of the tablet. "It's just an old product that's not very high quality and not worth spending our time or money on." Your mom nods accepting your explanation as you walk back towards your house. She holds the door open for you and follows you into the kitchen.

"Would you like some breakfast?" She asks as you dump the tablet scraps into the garbage bag.

"I ate already," you lie. "Think I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be back later." You feel bad for leaving her alone on a Sunday when the two of you at the very least usually share a nice breakfast together, but she leaves you home alone every weekday and you've got more important things to worry about anyway.

"Okay, have fun dear." She smiles at you and you nod before leaving the kitchen and then your house.

You start your walk back to headquarters, dreading your next and final objective with a sinking feeling that maybe you can't stop these deaths from occurring no matter how hard you try.


	6. Objective 5

**A/N- **Sorry this took so long to update. This was hardest chapter I had to write yet and its still not finished, so I split it up again. Any guesses on who the last objective is? Read on to find out and hope you enjoy!

****Disclaimer** - **I don't own the characters only their thoughts and actions.

* * *

><p>Objective 5<p>

You don't know how long it takes you to reach the warehouse. Your mind has become completely numb from the events of last night and instead of formulating some sort of plan to handle the situation you are in, you find your brain slipping slowly into the acceptance phase. You tried to keep Kristen safe and alive. You did what you thought was best in order to make sure your fourth objective would not be completed. God, you locked yourself in your freaking house for a whole week with barely any contact to the outside world, and yet you still managed to be a partial cause in the poor girl's death. Memories of your argument with the three boys last night and pictures of Kristen's burning body flash through your brain and will not leave, no matter how hard you try.

You walk quickly through the chamber of the warehouse and into the objectives room. You don't even look at the man behind the desk, knowing he will be sitting there immobile and unhelpful as ever. You are on auto-pilot, your body going through the motions while your brain suffers through agonizing thoughts of the four deaths you have been responsible for. As you walk to your podium, you notice that there are far less victims in the room with you. You don't know if it's because it is mid-morning instead of late at night when you usually are there. Or maybe it's because some of the other people have finished their objectives and have been freed from this crazy place.

You find a brand new (or magically fixed) tablet on your podium. You're a bit pissed that the destruction of the other one did nothing to inhibit their control over you, but at least you got some good anger relief out of the process. You grab the headphones and place them over your ears waiting for the voice to speak.

"_Welcome back Quinn Fabray. You have successfully completed objective four."_

Your stomach tightens as a picture of Kristen appears on the screen along with her name written underneath. A red X is drawn through the picture as the voice continues with its preprogrammed verbiage.

"_You will be responsible for the death of one more person. You will complete each objective in numerical order. After you complete each objective, you are to return to headquarters to receive your next objective. By August, you will complete all five of your objectives."_

You reach down to grab the tablet off the podium already knowing what the voice will say next.

"_Pick up your tablet to see your list."_

The five names from your list appear on the screen with all but the last one crossed out. You try to swallow, but your throat has gone completely dry in anticipation of what is to come. A name flashes on the screen and the voice speaks.

"_Objective five: Santana Lopez." _

The screen on the tablet goes blank and so too does the rest of the room.

* * *

><p>You feel a slight vibration on your left ear causing you to begrudgingly open your eyes. The vibration happens again, slightly more pronounced this time, and you see your cell phone is inches away from your face, lying on your bed. The phone buzzes once more before it stops, so you know that it was just a text message. You roll over to see what time it is and your clock reads 9:13 am. You bolt upright, definitely awake now. You left for the warehouse sometime midmorning on Sunday (at least after 10 o'clock you think), so either you went back in time or they kept you at headquarters all day yesterday and they brought you back during the night. You are leaning towards the second option, though after everything that has happened since you stepped into the warehouse, going back in time doesn't sound too far-fetched.<p>

You pick up your phone to see a text from Rachel with a time (9:12 am) and date (Mon, July 16, 2012) confirming your guess that you spent the majority of yesterday passed out in an abandoned warehouse. What a complete waste of a day, and now you are about two weeks from your August deadline. You barely made it one week until you accidently played a part in Kristen's death. What the hell are you going to do for the next two weeks to keep…to keep her alive? And worse yet, what if there is nothing you can do? You have no idea what happened yesterday and suddenly you are hit with a rush of anxiety. You grab your phone and hit number three on your speed dial.

She picks up after three rings and you let out a sigh of relief at her voice.

"Mmm what?" she grumbles. You hear a rustling in the background and assume you woke her up from sleeping.

"Hey, I uh-" you realize you have no good explanation for why you are calling. Telling her you thought she might dead because she's on your list of objectives and everyone else on the list has died just doesn't seem like the appropriate morning conversation. "I was wondering if you've seen my sunglasses. I think I left them at your place when I came over last week." You can clearly see your sunglasses sitting on your dresser, but she doesn't need to know that.

"So you call me at the ass crack of dawn during my summer vaca for a pair of fugly sunglasses that has been missing for over a week?"

"First of all, its past nine so get over it. Second, those are my favorite pair of sunglasses, thank you. And third, I just realized that they are missing and the last time I wore them was by your pool."

"Whatever," you hear more rustling and some murmuring.

"Hi, Quinn!" Brittany is much more chipper than her girlfriend in the morning; you should have just called her.

"Hey Britt, have you seen my sunglasses?" This conversation is pointless now that you know Santana is alive and well, but since you started it you need to see it through to its conclusion.

"Yeah. You were wearing them on your head when you left San's house after our pool party." Well, at least Brittany was paying attention because that is indeed what happened.

"Oh, okay. Well, maybe I put them down somewhere and forgot…"

"Did you check on top of your dresser?"

"Um yeah, but I'll give my room a good sweep again."

"That's a good idea. It's much easier to find things when your room is clean. That's why I always have Lord Tubbington doing household chores."

"Right," you reply. Even though you know Santana is fine, you are itching to see her in person just to be 100% certain. "So are you guys doing anything tonight?"

"Let me ask. San are we doing anything tonight?"

"Hang up the phone B, let's go back to sleep," you hear Santana mumble weakly.

"I don't want to sleep."

"Then hang up the phone and let's go back to not sleeping," Santana's voice comes across louder and you can almost visualize the smirk she is giving Brittany right now.

"We'll be done not sleeping by tonight though right?" Oh good Lord, you hope so. You hear movement on the other side of the line, then Santana is back.

"Movie night at 7. My place. Don't bother me until then." The line goes dead as she hangs up on you. You groan at the thought of what your two best friends are currently doing and fall back onto your bed.

On the positive side, nothing bad happened to Santana yesterday. On the negative side, you have no clue how to assure that pattern continues. You really wish you could talk to someone about this, but who could you tell without them checking you into an insane asylum? Brittany perhaps, she would definitely believe you, but as much as you love her, you doubt she would be able to come up with any practical solutions. There really is only one person who has always been there to help you and give you advise during your worst times- Rachel. Speaking of Rachel, you look down at the phone that's still in your hand and check the text she sent you.

**From Rachel: I haven't heard from you since yesterday morning when you informed me that you were indeed still alive. Were you being serious when you said you would "maybe" text me? Sorry if I am overstepping my boundaries here.**

You shake your head in amusement at her message. Thankfully you have a smart phone that can put her extremely verbose messages into one bubble.

**To Rachel: No worries, this is me maybe texting you back :) Sorry, I was busy with some stuff yesterday.**

You hate being vague, but you don't want to straight up lie to her either. Her response is almost immediate.

**From Rachel: Well, that certainly sounds like…fun?**

**To Rachel: Definitely not. What are you up to today?**

**From Rachel: My day is completely free. Vocal lessons are cancelled for the week because my instructor is on vacation. Do you have anything fun planned?**

Besides trying to save your best friend from almost certain death, no you don't have much of anything planned for the day. Not like you have had a very busy summer thus far, which you are quite certain Rachel is already aware of.

**To Rachel: Hmmm, I was thinking about reorganizing my bookshelf, staining the back deck, and teaching myself to knit.**

**From Rachel: Wow. It seems as if you already have a full day ahead of you. Your books could stand to be organized, I suggest alphabetical by author's last name or by genre.**

Okay, um did she not pick up on the sarcasm in your last text? You figured teaching yourself to knit was a pretty big give away. Might as well roll with it, you think as you reply.

**To Rachel: Oh yeah, that sounds like a brilliant idea! In fact, you should just come over and do it for me. :)**

**From Rachel: Really? Okay, that seems like a perfectly acceptable way to spend my Monday.**

Wow, she really was being serious. You shake your head, knowing full well if this conversation had been done in person rather than via text she would have seen your amused face and known you were joking. You decide to clue her in before the discussion gets out of hand.

**To Rachel: Seriously Rach? I was kidding. My bookshelf is plenty organized as is!**

**From Rachel: But I can never find anything on it!**

**To Rachel: I know where every book is placed; you can always just ask me. Besides, if you rearranged it, then I would never be able to find anything.**

**From Rachel: If you just had some sensible method of organization like any normal person, then we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place.**

**To Rachel: How about we agree to disagree? In fact, let's start this over. **

**To Rachel: Hey Rach, what are you up to today?**

You send off the two messages one right after the other without giving Rachel a chance to respond in between them. Your phone buzzes alerting you of her reply and as you open the message, it vibrates again as she sends you back two texts.

**From Rachel: Fine. :( **

**From Rachel: I'm not busy since my vocal lessons have been canceled for the week. What about you?**

**To Rachel: Hanging out with my apparently OCD friend hopefully…?**

**From Rachel: I didn't know you befriended Miss Pillsbury over the summer. Is the age difference awkward?**

You let out a laugh in your otherwise silent room at her response. It's been a while since you've had a carefree conversation with anyone and it feels extremely nice for a change.

**To Rachel: Haha, you're so funny. Do you want to come over? It's been too long since we've hung out. :(**

**From Rachel: I completely agree. What time would you like me to come?**

**To Rachel: My mom's at work, so you can come whenever. Just give me like 30 minutes to shower and get ready.**

**From Rachel: Okay, I'll be over around 11. Or perhaps sooner so I can rearrange your bookshelf while you are in the shower… **

**To Rachel: No! You are not allowed near that bookshelf! I'm getting out of bed now, I'll see you soon. :D**

**From Rachel: Sounds good, bye!**

You roll out of bed and head into your bathroom to get ready for Rachel's arrival in about an hour. As happy as you are to be back on good terms with Rachel, you can't stop thinking about Santana. You want to help her, you want to so badly, but with Kristen, all of your efforts had the opposite effect. You had been so certain that staying away from her would keep her alive, but all that did was backfire. How are you supposed to keep Santana safe when any arbitrary thing you do might end up killing her? Was there anything you even could do to keep her safe or did you literally have no control over the situation?

You briefly think that maybe you should just pack up your stuff and head to Yale early. But what if Santana becomes depressed because of this and tries to kill herself? No, she's way too bad-ass for that…isn't she? Or what if she got super pissed at you for leaving and then got drunk and dies of alcohol poisoning? Or what if while drunk she got into a fist fight with some asshole who is stronger than her and she couldn't get the razorblades out of her hair fast enough? You keep coming up with different scenarios, but they are always "what ifs." You don't know what is going to happen or how your actions will effective Santana's life expectancy. And it is this fact that leaves you crying in the shower, your tears mixing in with the hot water pouring down on your face as they slip swiftly down the drain taking your hope along with it.

You spend an inordinate amount of time in the shower because when you get out your fingers are pruney and gross. You wipe the steam off of the mirror and take in your appearance. Your eyes are slightly red around the edges from crying, but should be back to normal by the time Rachel arrives which will be in- you take a peek out of the doorway and into your room- 15 minutes. Shit, you were in the shower for a long time. You quickly dry your body and go into your room to put some clothes on.

Rachel is punctual as ever, and your doorbell rings at 10:58 while you are brushing through your still wet hair. You're a bit ticked at yourself for taking so long in the shower that you don't have time to dry your hair, but Rachel has seen your hair wet at a few pool parties glee kids have had over the summer so you really aren't too worried. You doubt she notices your appearance anyway, and you really shouldn't care either. You shouldn't care…but that doesn't mean you don't care.

You head downstairs to open the front door and are greeted with a smile and a hug. You ask Rachel if she wants anything to eat or drink as you two make your way into the living room, and she tells you that she is fine for now. She takes a seat right in the middle of your couch, so if you want to sit on it with her, you will end up being right next to her. As much as you would undoubtedly enjoy the closeness, you need to keep your brain focused and there is something about Rachel Berry's proximate distance to you that never fails to make your mind wander. You decide to sit in the chaise next to the couch. Rachel's mouth tightens at your action, but instead of commenting, she pulls her legs up on the couch and scoots closer to the end near the chaise.

The silence is suffocating and you wish you had some sort of activity prepared for you guys to do while you thought out how to best talk to Rachel about the situation you were currently in. You're at your wits end and you think that maybe Rachel can give you a different perspective, but you don't know how to bring the topic up without her being suspicious or thinking you are completely crazy. She is sitting with her legs underneath her body, her right elbow resting on the armrest, her chin settled in her hand as she stares at you, probably expecting you to tell her what you have planned. You avoid her gaze and pick at your fingernails, a longtime nervous tick that Rachel probably notices.

"Um…" you start at the exact same time as Rachel says, "So…" You both let out light laughs and you finally look over at your friend.

"Sorry, go ahead," you say gesturing at her to speak first.

"Well, I was simply going to state that I'm disappointed I didn't get here sooner to put my organizational skills to good use on your bookcase." And that right there is why you like Rachel Berry so much. You let out an audible scoff feigning irritation at her statement and immediately you are at ease. You are very much in your comfort zone during verbal disputes with Rachel. It had always been a vocal sparing match between the two of you, but your rude fights and name calling of years past has developed into intelligent disagreements laced with mutual respect for one another.

You shake your head, but choose to ignore her statement and ask her how she's been. She gives you a bright smile before diving into a long explanation of all the events that have occurred since you last saw her (ignoring your brief visit on Saturday night). You are typically quite good at listening to Rachel and are generally intrigued by almost everything she has to say, but as she rattles off about her "impromptu last minute" family trip to Toledo, you find yourself zoning out. You are still too hung up about your failed efforts with Kristen and your seemingly hopeless situation with Santana. You don't register that Rachel has finished talking until you hear your name escape from her lips and you snap your eyes towards her seeing her patiently staring back at you.

"Sorry," you bite your lip having no clue what she just said, "that sounds nice?" She shakes her head at you while smiling, and you know you have been caught.

"You could rival my fiancé with that response." Your insides cringe- either at the thought of being as dense as Finn or the way she so easily referred to him as her fiancé or perhaps both- but your face remains the same. Years of practice allows you to have complete control over your facial features.

"I'm sorry," you repeat genuinely, "Not that what you are saying isn't important, I just have a lot on my mind." You sit up straighter and lean forward to show her that she had your full attention now. "Can you please repeat the last part?" She raised her head off of the hand it was resting on and maneuvered her legs so she was sitting indian style on the couch, body positioned your direction.

"I asked if you were feeling okay," she states, concern lacing her every word. She's looking at you, not just your eyes, but also scanning your face and body, and you suddenly feel uncomfortable with the amount of attention she is giving you.

"Oh right," you give her a half smile in regards to your first failed attempt at answering her question. "I'm fine," you answer. She is still looking at you and her eyebrows furrow at your response. Everybody knows that _I'm fine_ is the standard response for when you don't want to talk. It could really mean anything from, _I'm completely devastated and heartbroken_ to _I'm so pissed I may just rip your head off_.

"You don't look fine," she replies softly. Your sophomore year self would have bitched at Rachel, telling her to back off and close up all your walls. Of course your sophomore self wouldn't have Rachel Berry sitting in your living room in the first place. You hear the words Rachel said to you at prom replay in your mind, _the new Quinn, the still beautiful yet humble and inspiring_. You could tell by your reaction to her statement that maybe she was right, maybe you had changed.

The two of you sit in silence as you contemplate how you want this conversation to play out. You could easily blow off her inquiry by saying you're tired and haven't been getting much sleep (both completely true). But that wouldn't get you anywhere. You needed Rachel's perspective on your predicament. Rachel, the girl who convinced you not to go through with stealing your daughter back. Rachel, the girl who convinced you return to glee when you were at two of your lowest points. Rachel, the girl who told you that you were the prettiest girl that she ever met, but that you were a lot more than that. She always seemed to know things about you that you didn't know about yourself.

"Do you believe in fate?" you asked into the silent living room. Her eyes had drifted to the pictures on the mantel as she waited for your response, so she turns her head back towards you upon hearing your voice. If she is at all surprised by the change in conversation, she does not let it show.

"After everything that has happened during my high school career, particularly senior year, I think that yes I do." She was completely serious in her answer, and you are glad she seems invested in whatever you are going to discuss.

"Have you ever wanted to change your fate?" You wish you could change many things that happened in your life. But every action has a reaction. Although you are still not fond of the memory of your first time with Puck, having a precious little daughter, even if only for the few stolen hours you got to be with her, was something you would never regret.

"Sometimes." She peels her eyes away from you and looks at the fireplace straight across the room from her. "But everything happens for a reason. If all the events that I dislike about my past did not happen, then I would not be where I am today. More importantly I feel that fate is more of an abstract idea of your future and thus I will never know what my fate will be, so how can I change that of which I know nothing about?"

"Exactly!" You state a bit too enthusiastically. She returns her attention to you; it seems as if your outburst startled her.

"Exactly what?" she asks. Okay so maybe you startled and confused her.

"How can you change something if you don't know how it is going to happen?" She opens her mouth briefly before closing it and turning back to the fireplace. You let her deliberate on her answer, curious to hear what she has to say.

"I'm not sure," she deadpans. Her voice is quiet and hollow, a tone you have never heard from her before. Immediately you feel shivers run done your spine; it's not an answer you were hoping for and her voice catches you off-guard. You wish you could see her eyes to perhaps read some emotion from them, but she is still staring straight ahead. She takes in a deep breath before letting it out slowly and turning her attention to you. She is eyeing you, but you're not sure what she is looking for. "I don't know what you want me to say," she breathes out.

You just want her to be honest, and you are pretty sure she was doing just that with her answer. You can tell by her tone and body language that Rachel is taking this conversation way more seriously than you had intended for a philosophical discussion. You don't want to put a damper on her mood, but you need something a little more, anything really, that might help you with Santana. Because right now her thoughts on the subject seem quite similar to yours. If you wanted a deeper analysis of your own thoughts you would have talked to yourself in the mirror.

"I just," you look down to your fingers fidgeting on your lap, "What if…" you keep your gaze down as you run a hand through your hair to sweep your bangs from your face. Almost instantly they fall back in front of your eyes, but it buys you some time to work out what you want to say. "Look okay," you raise your eyes from your lap and glance over to her slightly confused face. "Let's say you know what your fate will be and it's something you wouldn't want, like you end up being a movie actress and never make it on Broadway. Would you try to change that?"

"Well, I never saw myself getting into cinema, but the idea is rather intriguing and not completely unpleasant so probably not," Rachel replies thoughtfully.

Missing the point here Berry, you think but choose not to voice. "Okay then make it something worse. Imagine the most awful place you could see yourself being in twenty years." She closes her eyes and nods slightly. "Now your fairy god mother showed you your future and you know for certain that this vision is how your life will turn out." She chuckles softly. Your philosophical statements have turned into fairytales, but you could really care less right now. "Would you try to make sure that future didn't happen?"

"No," she replies almost immediately, her eyes still closed.

"What?" you are thrown completely by her answer, and the surprise in your tone has her opening her eyes to look at you.

"I wish I could, but I know I can't." You raise one eyebrow indicating for her to explain herself. "There will be so many decisions and choices that I will make that could lead me to that future. How am I to ever know which ones will lead me down that path?" You shrug as an answer because you know it is impossible to figure out which choices would get you to where you want to end up. Still, if you knew your life would end up shitty, you would at least try to avoid that possible future.

She continues, "But I think you are missing the point of fate Quinn. Your fate is like destiny. It is not something that you control or can change. It isn't something you will ever truly know. If you believe in fate, then the events in your past and the ones to come in your future were meant to be and there is nothing you can do about it."

You clench both your hands into fists, the sting in your right hand reminding you of your punch to Puckerman's face. _There is nothing you can do about it_. You hear her words repeat in your mind. That can't be the only answer. There is always a shade of grey between black and white, isn't there?

"What do you think happens when you die?" you ask. Your question catches both of you off guard and you aren't entirely sure where it came from, but you're curious to hear her answer anyway.

"I don't know. I suppose no one can be entirely sure until they are dead," she says with a playful smirk.

"Right. But haven't you ever wondered what happens after you die?"

"Not really." She leans back on the couch into a more comfortable position. "I mean I have imagined what my funeral would be like, how any people would be there- the ones that I loved and the ones that I hoped loved me- nothing out of the ordinary. But I haven't given much thought to anything after that. What do you think happens?" she asks with genuine curiosity.

"I'm supposed to believe in Heaven and Hell, and I think that I do, but the separation between the two isn't what intrigues me." You stare into the fire as if you are pulling your thoughts straight from its flames. "Sometimes I wonder if your souls stay there forever. Is there something beyond the after-life? Like the after-after life?" She chuckles at you and you turn your attention back to her, staring straight into her eyes. "No, honestly. Even if your soul was in a place like Heaven, wouldn't you get bored of it after a while? Would you really want to stay in one place forever?"

Sometimes you lay awake at night thinking about the world spinning on its axis. It keeps spinning on and on and on, but life doesn't continue on like that. So why would death? You wonder if anyone else thinks about these things or if you are just weird like that.

"I probably would," she replies with a wistful look on her face. "If your assumptions are true, and my soul went to a place where I could be with the ones I loved, then I would be happy." Great, she is probably imagining some place where she and Finn sing love songs each morning as they wake up, and they are joined by Blaine and Kurt for Broadway karaoke every night. Shaking the idea from your head you continue on with your train of thought.

"But when does it end? Life ends with death, but when does death end? When does your soul die? Why do they tell us all about beginnings and endings only to promise us endless happiness after death if we have done right during our life?" You are shooting out rapid fire questions that you are positive no one has the answers too.

"I can't pretend to be an expert in Christianity Quinn. But religious beliefs aside, would you even want everything to end?" she asks, taking her back off the couch and leaning towards you.

"All good things must end Rachel, it's the facts of life," you answer. She frowns for a second at your response before giving you a small smile and replying.

"But we are talking about the after-life," she says teasingly. You roll your eyes at her as you let the silence engulf you. There has to be some way to make her see your point. You are almost positive Rachel Berry can overcome any obstacle if she sets her mind to it. Unless she has the same beliefs about the situation that you are in with Santana…that no matter what you do, if it was meant to be, it will happen. But Santana can't be meant to die at 18. She hasn't become famous, or married Brittany, or taken over the world with her cunning ways. She hasn't lived yet. There is no way her life was meant to end so soon.

"What if it was Finn instead of you?" you ask abruptly, still not dropping your first subject matter.

"I'm sorry?" She was resting her head on her hands, elbows propped up on her knees, but she jolts upright at your question looking at you with confusion evident on her face. Perhaps you should be a bit clearer.

"What if you knew Finn would get hurt in a football game. What would you do?"

"I'm pretty sure Finn's football days are over," she replies with what you take to be a look of satisfied relief. You roll your eyes and respond.

"Indulge me," you challenge with one eyebrow raised. She lets out a huff of annoyance though you are sure it is just for show.

"I suppose I would ask him not to play in the game." You scoot forward a little bit in your chair; finally getting somewhere with her answers.

"So you would try to stop him from getting hurt?"

"Well yes," Rachel looks slightly put off by the question, "I don't want any of the people I love having to suffer."

"But what if, because he didn't play in the game and they lost, he punched a locker and broke his hand, thus getting hurt anyway?" She is eyeing you closely as you wait for her answer. Her posture that was completely relaxed since she got to your house has gone completely stiff, and she folds her arms in front of her chest.

"Is there a particular reason why Finn is getting hurt in these scenarios?" her tone is somewhere between defiant and accusing. Of course, everything between the two of you will always lead back to Finn.

"No," you drawl out slowly maintaining eye contact with Rachel. "I simply figured since he is your _fiancé_," you emphasize the word, "that he is one of the most important people in your life." She nods in agreement. "Wouldn't you want to protect him from harm?"

"Of course," she scoffs back, "but it seems that in your 'what if' scenarios," she even includes the finger quotes, "that Finn is going to get hurt no matter what." You can tell she is annoyed by what you are insinuating, but you are finally getting somewhere with her answers and can't get too concerned with her feelings on the subject right now.

"Exactly." Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off before she can start. "Now hear me out," she shuts her mouth narrowing her eyes at you. You're not sure how long you will have before she bursts into a Berry verbal tirade. "You said that you would try to stop him from getting hurt, but what if no matter what you do, it is inevitable that he gets hurt? What would you do then?" She takes a deep breath before slowly exhaling and leveling you with a questioning look.

"I'm not quite sure what you are asking Quinn." Her voice has lost most of its surliness, but is still rather clipped.

"Would you try to save him, even if you know your attempts will be futile?"

"Of course I would," she replies forcefully turning towards the fireplace with her arms still protectively across her chest. "There is always hope that the events will turn out positively."

"But how can you save him if you don't know what will happen?" You are desperate for her to give you a different answer than when you asked her about changing fate. There has to be a way, a loop hole, some scenario in which Santana stays alive.

"Well I-" she stops and scrunches her eyebrows trying to decipher something in her brain. She looks over at you, tilts her head and smiles. "I see we have gone full circle here, Miss Fabray." You nod though it had never truly been your intention, you had kind of just been winging it the entire time. "I guess I'm not sure how I could save Finn from this hypothetical harm, but I would try everything that I could."

"And if none of the options you come up with work?" You hold your breath waiting for her answer. She has gone to staring into the fireplace, apparently it holds all the answers whether you like them or not.

"Then I would spend as much time with him as I could; savoring what we have together," Rachel answers. You slowly exhale as you put your elbows on your knees and rest your head in your hands, looking out into your living room without really seeing.

"I should have known Rachel Berry would never be a quitter," you say softly. She immediately gets off of the couch and kneels in front of you. You sit up straight so that your face isn't so close to hers. The proximity to her is causing your body temperature to rise and you hope she can't feel the heat that is no doubt radiating off your skin.

"You are not a quitter either Quinn," she says with so much conviction you almost believe her. "You have preserved through so much in your short life. Your determination to achieve your goals is one of the qualities I admire most about you." You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks so you look down to your lap to hide your face, but she lifts a hand to your chin forcing your head up to maintain eye contact. "I don't know what's going on with you and these hypothetical questions, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Her focus shifts between your two eyes as she stares at you, making sure her words got through.

You nod because you're pretty sure words will not come out correctly right now. She lets go of your chin, but remains on the floor in front of you, her hands now resting on your knees. She bites her lip and you can tell she wants to say more. You lift your knee lightly to nudge her hands and she takes that as a sign to continue. She gets off her knees and takes a few steps back before sitting on the ottoman that is directly across from you.

"Is this about my wedding?" she asks softly. You begin to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question- you wish you could go back to the days when the Berry-Hudson wedding was your biggest worry- but when you see the seriousness on her face you cut your laughter short. This time you're the one leaning forward and reaching out to her.

"No Rachel," you take her left hand in your right. "Although I do think that you two should wait until you finish college or are at least in your twenties, like I said to you before, I do support your decision." She gives you a small smile at your admission, and it is this smile that allows you to continue. "Finn really does seem to make you happy and that's all I want for you. I just used Finn as an example because I know how much he means to you."

It hurts knowing Finn makes her happy than you ever could especially because you believe she deserves someone so much better than him, but ultimately it is her choice. As a good friend you must learn to accept that and respect her decisions. Like you've said before, being friends with Rachel is better than not having her in your life at all.

"He's not the only person I care about," she states looking slightly up at you through her eyelashes. You wish it weren't so quiet in the room because your pretty sure she can hear your heart pounding against your ribcage at that statement. That is if she is saying what you think she is saying.

"I know that." You assure her with a slight squeeze to the hand you're holding praying that the heat in your body won't cause your hand to get all sweaty.

"I would do the same if it were you Quinn." The statement is said so quietly you are unsure if Rachel even meant to say it out loud. She has her eyes locked on you, so you are pretty sure she knows you heard her. But you have no clue how to respond to that. Of course you would do the same if it was her, after all she is one of your best friends, but how do you say _I would die a hundred deaths just to keep you safe because you are going to do so much more with your life than I can ever dream to accomplish and it would kill me to not let you be able to live out your dreams_ without sounding extremely creepy? You extract your hand from hers, trying to be discrete by fake coughing a few times, as you think of a response.

"That's um," you pick at one of your fingernails as both hands are now in your lap, "that's good to know." Rachel's posture drops slightly at your response, so you continue with what you deem an appropriate reply, "I would do the same for you too Rachel." She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear before giving you a heartbreaking smile. You can tell that the heavy part of your conversation for the day is over, so you stand up from the chaise.

"I'm going to get a drink, do you want anything?" you ask. She gets up as well to put you on even ground.

"Just a hug, perhaps?" You like how she raises her inflection at the end of the statement to make it a question. Like you would ever deny her a hug. Hell, you can hardly deny this girl anything. You open your arms, and she steps into them, placing her chin on your right shoulder. You breathe in the scent of her hair, before you take a step back to distance yourself from her aura.

Rachel follows you as you make your way into the kitchen to get some water. You fill up two glasses even though she never told you if she was thirsty or not. She takes a sip of hers before setting it down and leaning against the counter. You have your glass half gone when you notice her eyeing you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I think you just did," you tease back with a smirk. She shoves your shoulder lightly.

"I'm sorry, but I've been dying to ask you since you greeted me at the front door," she spills. You quirk an eyebrow wondering what could possibly be on her mind. "What in the world did you do to your hand?" She points to your right hand that is currently lying flat on the counter, the large bruise even more evident than it was two days ago.

"Oh, I punched Puckerman in the face," you reply nonchalantly waiting for her reaction.

"What!" She shouts at you, mouth gaped open, eyebrows shooting up and hiding behind her bangs. "What did he do?" You smile at her response. Unlike Santana who was quick to blame you when it came down to a potential tiff between you and Rachel, Rachel automatically blames Puck and takes your side. Of course the situations are completely different, but you are happy she doesn't assume that the punching was your fault.

"Nothing too bad. Just said some things when he was drunk and I got upset so I decided to leave, then he brought up taking my virginity and I kind of lost it and hit him in the face." Rachel's face is scrunched up in anger, and she looks just like she does right before she goes on a diva rant. You can't help but to think she looks kind of cute especially because she is so tiny and there is no way she can do much physical harm to Puck like you are sure she is planning. You reach out and place a hand on her shoulder to hopefully calm her down. "He texted me the next morning and apologized, so it's really not a big deal. Which reminds me, I should probably text him back." You pull out your phone as Rachel responds.

"Not a big deal! Not a big deal, Quinn, what all did he say to you? It must have been extremely harsh for you to resort to physical violence." You finish typing up a message to Puck before you reply to Rachel.

**To Puck: Sorry I took so long to get back to you and sorry about the punch. I'm free tomorrow if you want to grab coffee or something at the Lima Bean.**

"You are aware that Santana and I got into a fight at the beginning of junior year right? And that was over being Head Cheerio and a boob job." You laugh at how petty you were back then.

"From what I heard, Santana started it and you were only acting out of self-defense. Besides, that was Cheerio Quinn and now you're new and improved Quinn who uses words not fists."

"Well, I can assure you I used some choice words as well. But I think the fist really got the point across." She shakes her head in amusement and fortunately decides not to push the subject any further. She reaches out and strokes her thumb softly over the bruise. You involuntarily shiver at the contact and hope she doesn't notice.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," you smile at her, then lift your right hand into a thumbs up. "It looks a lot worse than it is." She accepts your answer with a hum as your phone buzzes alerting you of a text.

**From Puck: tmrw is good 4 me. 10am?**

You type out a quick reply and send it off as Rachel watches you.

**To Puck: Sounds good, see you then.**

You slide your phone back into your pocket and look over at your friend with a raised eyebrow.

"Speaking of Puck," she leans sideways against the countertop, "I'm assuming you heard about the girl from McKinley who passed away in the hospital after the fire?" Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your pulse racing at her question. You struggle to keep the water in your mouth and swallow it before answering.

"Where did you hear that?" You need to know what all Rachel knows about the subject. Was she aware that Kristen was the girl you were supposed to take home that night? Rachel seems a bit taken aback at your question.

"It was all over the news yesterday and in the front page of the newspaper today," she says implying that you should have already known. You nod your head, though you found out from a completely different source much sooner. "I think they are having the funeral on Sunday, but I never met the girl so I will probably pay my respects through a flower arrangement to the family or perhaps the whole glee club could send something."

The topic of conversation is making you queasy and you can almost feel beads of sweat accumulating on your forehead as your body heats up in anxiety. Rachel seems not to notice your internal anguish and continues on, "Did you know her?"

You are almost positive you are going to be sick now. You don't want to think about Kristen; in fact you want to forget the whole incident happened. But you know that it is not something you can just push to the back of your mind. You know from personal experience that avoidance and denial only leads to more problems in the long run, so you answer her honestly.

"Yeah, we had gym together one semester." You finish off your glass of water. "I have to use the restroom," you say signaling an abrupt end to the discussion. You rush into the bathroom and splash some cold water onto your face. It helps a little bit and after a few minutes you are able to calm down enough to go back out to Rachel.

You walk through the living room and into the kitchen, but find them both lacking one brunette. You head up to your room and see her in front of your bookshelf pulling _Pride and Prejudice_ out of its place. Just seeing her trying to be sneaky and yet completely comfortable in your room puts you at ease.

"Blasphemy!" you shout as you run towards her. She shrieks at your sudden appearance dropping the book and jumping up; running to the other side of the bed to use it as a barrier.

"I should have known you would try to sneak up here and ruin my organizational method." You jump on the bed and take two steps before landing on the floor on the other side.

Rachel has already booked it out of your room, yelling back at you, "That is not organization. That is purely madness in the form of lazy shelving skills." You bolt out your door as fast as your healing legs can carry you and find she is already at the bottom of the stairs waiting for you.

"There is a method to my madness and you have no right to screw it up." You decide against chasing after her because not only are you positive she is too spritely to catch, but you are too lazy to invest more energy in this silly argument that really isn't one at all. You sit down at the top of the stairs waiting to see Rachel's next move. She grins at your defeat, knowing she won though you aren't really sure what it is that she won. Certainly not reorganizing your bookshelf, there is no way that will happen.

"So what did you have planned for us today?" She asks before taking a few cautious steps up the stairs.

"Honestly? I just wanted to see you." She smiles as she continues to slowly climb. "What do you want to do?"

"Well…" she has a mischievous smile on her face that gets you nervous for all sorts of reasons.

"No," you state before she can get it out. "You aren't allowed near my books. Besides that is like the most boring way to spend an afternoon." She finally reaches the step in front of you, but with you sitting, you have to look up to see the pout on her face.

"You're not serious are you?" you ask. She nods while biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"Fine, whatever." She literally beams at you and claps her hands before jumping past you and heading toward your room. And that is how your books went from the year in which you purchased them to alphabetical order by author's last name.


End file.
